Taken
by TStabler
Summary: I used to think it was just a hypothetical question. Something psychiatrists ask to gauge the level of crazy you're on. You wake up in a white room with no doors or windows, what do you do? I never had an answer to that. Until now.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Day One**

**DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns SVU and the characters; TStabler© owns the story you're about to read.**

_I used to think it was just a hypothetical question. Something psychiatrists ask to gauge the level of crazy you're on. You wake up in a white room with no doors or windows, what do you do? I never had an answer to that. Until now._

**THERE**

"We have security footage of them entering the hospital, but not leaving," Cragen says, looking around at the crowded squad room. His heart was racing and his hands were shaking, but his voice was level and calm. "The doctor they were there to say says he never saw them. Detective Benson was checked out by a nurse, then left alone in the exam room, with her partner. When the doctor went in, ten minutes later, they were gone."

"This doesn't make sense," Munch complains, scratching his unshaven chin. "How did..."

Cragen interrupts him. "That's what we're trying to find out. They took Tuesday off, yesterday I just assumed something was still wrong. Kathy called us at two o'clock today, worried that she hadn't heard from either of them. Which means, they've already been gone more than forty-eight hours. You know the timeline of cases like this. Don't make me tell you what we could be facing." He clears his throat. "Munch, Fin...go through every one of their cases. Find someone with a grudge and a way in and out of that hospital. Morales, you and your team upstairs get me every tape from every camera at Mercy General and find them, they've gotta be there somewhere. The rest of you, canvas every vacant lot, alley, abandoned building. Call every friend, relative, hospital and..." he doesn't want to say it. He doesn't even want to think it. "And morgue...in the entire state. I want them found. Now!"

The cops scatter, the murmuring starts, and the search for two of New York's finest begins. Cragen holds in the urge to cry as he turns to the white-board behind him and stares at the eight-by-ten photos of Elliot Stabler and Olivia Benson, and he shakes his head. "We don't get to pick the vic," he reminds himself quietly as he shuffles into his office to make several phone calls of his own.

**HERE**

"What time is it, El?" she asks groggily, rolling over in the surprisingly clean and comfortable bed. "Fuck that," she moans. "What day is it?"

"Don't know," he garbles back, rubbing his eyes. "Bastard took my watch and my cell phone, remember? And since we can't see the sun rise or set, I have no fucking idea how long we've even been here," he gripes, rolling over, too, meeting her in the middle. Nose-to-nose, they stay for a moment. Eyes closed. Breathing slowly but together. "Lights are on," he mutters. "Must be after seven."

She whimpers and moves closer to him, mumbling something under her breath about being somewhere between too cold and too hot.

He chuckles and wraps an arm around her, a leg around her, and he kisses her softly. "Good morning," he says quietly. "Or...afternoon? Who the fuck knows."

Their eyes are forced open when a loud banging is heard from the top of the stairs. Their captor's alerting them to the food and clothes left on the landing.

Elliot is the first to move, disentangling himself from his lover and throwing the blanket off of his boxer-clad body. "I don't know why he bothers giving us clean clothes," he complains, heading up the cold metal steps. "We don't get to fucking leave this room to get the old ones dirty!"

She scoffs and her still-sleepy eyes are pulled toward the ceiling. She stares at the rotating lens of the black camera that seems to follow her every move. "He wants us in costume for his sick, twisted movie."

He returns to the bed with a pile of clothes under his arm and a tray of food. "At least we're giving him one hell of a show," he says with a wink, sitting beside her. He jabs a piece of fresh melon with the only fork the sick freak has given them, and feeds it to her with a warm smile on his face.

She shakes her head as she chews, and with her mouth full, she speaks as she looks back up at the camera. "Why is he being so..."

"Nice?" he finishes, popping a strawberry into his mouth. "No idea. But thank God he is. This could be a lot worse."

She sighs and looks around. "Where are we, El?"

He drops the fork onto the plate. "I don't know, honey," he says. He watches her lift a grape to her lips, he brushes her hair back. "Is it gonna bother you if I take shower?"

She raises an eyebrow.

"Well, he didn't give us any kind of privacy over there," he argues, justifying his question. His head turns toward the spigot in the corner of the room. A makeshift shower with no curtain, tiny hotel shampoos and conditioners and two bars of soap. One with an E carved into it, the other an O, making it known that the man who'd taken them wanted them to smell distinctly masculine and feminine, respectively.

She's staring at the small bathroom-esque space, too, and she says, "I've seen you naked. Shit, I love seeing you naked. By all means, go get naked."

He laughs as he watched her chomp into a slice of toast, burnt as it is, and says, "Get naked with me."

She swallows the dry, unbuttered bread, and tilts her head as she unsheathes herself from the bedcovers. "For being kidnapped," she begins, "This isn't so bad. Kind of like a bad motel. Until he comes down here and hacks us into pieces."

He lifts the cotton nightgown over her head and leans into her. "I'm gonna get us out of here," he whispers. "I swear. I don't know how but...maybe I can catch him opening that fucking door in the middle of the night."

She sighs again, something that's becoming a bad habit, and reaches toward the pull-string on the spigot. She gasps when the cold water hits her, but it warms to a comfortable heat fast. She tugs on his boxers and then on his hand, bringing him under the water with her. "I just wish I knew if...I didn't get those test results back before we...before he..."

"Yeah," he says, dropping a kiss to her shoulder. "That's the only thing that's been on my mind since we woke up in this...prison." He kisses her neck, the water running off of her skin, into his mouth. He doesn't mind. "That and...my kids. I just wanna know they're safe."

"Me, too," she says reaching for the soap with the O dug out. She sniffs it, the lavender filling her lungs. She drops it, though, when his mouth finds her neck again.

He whispers against her slick skin. "We're safe," he tells her. "I'm not gonna let him hurt you."

Her eyes are closed, her mouth is pressed shut. She moans as his tongue laps at the droplets coating the tops of her breasts. The mechanical whir of the camera lens rotating cuts through the air and she stiffens. "El," she breathes.

"I know," he tells her, the tip of his tongue swooping over one of her nipples. "He's watching."

**THERE**

Morales bursts into the squad room, a tiny black chip in his hands. "I think I found them!" he yells, getting everyone's attention. He storms over to Elliot's vacant desk and jams the chip into a slot near the top of the computer's tower.

Cragen runs to stand directly behind him and leers over his shoulder. "Show me," he commands.

"Look," Morales says. A video plays on the monitor as he speaks. "This is them walking into the hospital. I've got footage that follows them into the elevator, then down a hallway, into an exam room. See? Nurse goes in, ten minutes later nurse walks out. After that, Olivia's doctor goes in. He comes right out, confused." He turns to face Cragen. "I just got off the phone with him. The room was empty when he walked in."

"Holy shit," Fin spits, pointing at the screen. "Who the fuck took 'em? David Copperfield?"

"No," Morales says with a hard glare. "Just someone who knew that that exam room was connected to the main storage closet, with a second door leading back out into the hallway." He pauses and bites his lip. "The only part of that floor the cameras don't catch is that door."

Cragen narrows his eyes. "So someone got into the room through the closet, and took them out of it the same way, knowing he wouldn't be seen?"

"No camera anywhere else caught a single glimpse of them after that moment," Morales says. "That's the only explanation."

"Hey!" Munch shouts then, pointing excitedly to the computer. "Go back...just before the doctor walks into the room." He waits while Morales clicks a few keys. Then he watches. "Right there! Stop it!"

Fin scoffs. "That's an orderly rollin' a dead guy down the hall. That ain't Liv, man."

Munch taps the computer monitor and says, "Really? A dead guy with two right hands?"

Morales zoomed in, revealing a clear image of two hands peeking out of the white sheet on the right side of the stretcher. A woman's, flopped limply over a man's. "That's...that is Stabler's watch, right?" the technician asks, trying to refine the image.

Cragen gives an unhappy grunt. "And that's Benson's ring," he almost whispers.

"Fuck," Fin hisses. "He knocked 'em out and threw 'em on a stretcher, covered 'em with a sheet...are you tellin' me it's that easy to sneak unconscious people out of a hospital?"

"Apparently," Munch jibes. "Is there any way you can get a clear shot of his face?" he asks, hopeful, looking at the techie.

Morales shakes his head. "He's facing away from the lens, John. I can get you a good frame of the bad haircut, but that's it."

Cragen slaps a hand down on Morales' shoulder. "I know I'm overworking you, but can you..."

"Follow the stretcher," Morales interrupts, ejecting the video card from the drive and getting out of Elliot's chair. "I'm on it," he nods, leaving the room faster than he entered it.

Cragen looks at his oldest charge and dearest friend. "Good eye, there, John," he says, heading back toward the white-board. He doesn't make it far.

"Captain Cragen?" a voice calls from the doorway.

Cragen stops mid-step and turns. "Yeah?"

A man in a brown uniform walks toward him, handing him a cardboard box. "Sign, please?"

"We have a mailroom, ya know," Cragen gripes, scrawling his name on the electronic pad.

"I was told to personally deliver this to you," the man says. "Good day." He tips his hat slightly, then eyes the white-board for a moment. With a smirk, he leaves, heading to finish his rounds.

Cragen moves toward Elliot's desk again, dropping the box on the slick metal surface. He whips the letter opener out of Elliot's pen-holder, stabs through the packing tape, and slices the package open. With each lifting flap, his heart hammers faster. "Oh, my God," he breathes.

"What?" It's Munch. His voice is low, afraid. His palms sweat as he nears his captain.

Cragen doesn't speak. He can't. He's too transfixed by the box. He slowly pulls out two guns, two badges, two cell phones, a watch, a diamond ring, and two pictures. He lays each item solemnly on Olivia's cleared desk and takes a step back. "Log it," he orders gently. "All of it."

Fin is the first to move, and the first thing he touches is the first photograph. "I'm just gonna tell myself they're only kissin' because they're panickin' here," he says, staring at the image of his two friends locked together. "Timestamp on this is yesterday, nine-forty-five."

"So they're okay," Munch breathes.

Cragen bites his lip. "At least, they were yesterday." He fingers the diamond ring and swallows the lump in his throat.

Fin places the picture of Olivia and Elliot down on the desk before moving a shaky hand to the second picture. "I'm...I...they're just sleepin' in this one, right?"

"I hope so, Fin," Cragen says, his weathered finger tracing the numbers on Olivia's shining badge. "I fucking hope so."

**HERE**

Dried, dressed, and sated, they lay in the bed. They stare at the white ceiling, their eyes unblinking. Their hands are clasped, his left in her right, and the only sound heard is the deep breathing of the pair.

Until the chains rattle. Until the lock turns. Until the door screeches against the tiles.

Elliot shoots up, he runs as fast as he can, but the heavy steel slams again before he even makes it to the bottom of the staircase. "Mother fucker!" he yells, bounding up the steps fast. "What the fuck do you want from us, huh?" He pounds on the grey slab, doing more damage to his hands than the door.

"Elliot!" she yells from the ground below him. "Stop it." She envelopes herself in her arms, due to the cold and the fear. "It's pointless. What...what did he leave up there?"

He bends and picks up the folded paper and stack of books, then turns to her. He closes his eyes and dejectedly slumps down the stairs, and takes her into his arms. "I thought I could...I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she whispers, pressing into him further. She leads him back to their bed, the only furniture in the room, and she sits, makes him sit. She takes the books from him and leafs through them. "What does the note say?"

"The rules," he says, reading the typed letter. "Again. And a warning. 'Stabler. At no time are you permitted to ever harm her in any way. I'm watching you." He shakes his head and looks at her. "He doesn't know me very well. I'm never gonna hurt you, you know that."

She nods as she slides back toward the headboard and flips open a new copy of _Last __Exit __to __Brooklyn._"I wonder how he knows all this shit, El," she states. "Clothing sizes, allergies, favorite books. He knows what kind of soap we use, he knows..." she stops and shakes her head as she scuttles close to him again, having just thoroughly frightened herself.

He kisses her forehead. "I don't know," he says, looping his arms around her. He watches her as she reads, and it's only a moment before the lights go out. Leaving them in complete darkness.

"El?" she whispers, her voice almost cold.

He grips her, then fumbles for their blankets. Blindly, he gets them nestled into the bed. "Must be ten o'clock," he tells her. "He turns the lights off at ten. One of his..."

"Rules," she completes, her hand snaking up his tee shirt, finding his peaked nipples in the dark. "I know. He's got us scheduled, like..."

"Pets," Elliot snaps.

She skims her fingertips back down his chest. "I was gonna say lab rats."

"That, too," he says, kissing her eye, misjudging the position of her face in the dark. They share a laugh and find each other's mouth. They hear a thud, and they know Olivia's book has dropped to the floor.

He pulls her close and covers her, a second blanket, and he shudders a bit. "I'm terrified but..."

"Thank God we're together," she says. "That's where you were going, right?"

"I'd be going crazy if he'd just taken you," he whispers. "If I didn't know where you were, if you were dead or alive, I'd...yeah. Thank God we're together."

She feels his single teardrop hit her shoulder, and she finds his lips again. It's her way of finding Heaven while trapped in Hell.

Because although they're safe, comfortable, together, and cared for, that's exactly what they are.

Trapped. Taken. Ripped from the life they had only begun to share beyond the four stark white walls that now bind them only to each other, and the man watching them from the top of the stairs.

**A/N: As always, read and review if you'd like. Thanks.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Day Two**

**DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns SVU and the characters; TStabler© owns the story you're about to read.**

_You'd be surprised what the human mind is capable of, what the body will force itself to do in situations like this. We had books, board games, a bed, and each other. No link to the outside world. No sense of time, no connection to anything or anyone nothing but our own voices, felt nothing but each other's touch. After a while…it…it was just...normal._

THERE

"Kathy," Cragen says, watching the blonde woman bite her nails, "You've got to calm down."

"Calm down?" the woman snaps. "My children are terrified that their father is lying dead somewhere! My ex-husband and my best friend are missing, I don't know if they're even still alive! Don't tell me to fucking calm down, Don! Do you know why they were at that hospital?"

Cragen tries to stop his shaking hands, and he nods once. "Yeah," he sighs and blinks, his mind racing with a thousand 'what-ifs' and then he speaks again. "I know why, which is why I'm just as scared as you are, but coming down here and interrupting the invest…"

"Here," she spits out, throwing her cell phone at him. It lands with a crash on his desk. "Read the last text message."

Cragen flips open the phone. He presses a few buttons and swallows hard. "Pick up your phone at six PM. Make sure the kids are there to say hi to Daddy."

"That's why I came down here, Don," Kathy says, her voice now soft, wavering. "I'm bringing my kids here to take that call. Hook it up. Plug it in. Whatever. Just trace it and find the bastard."

"Kathy," Cragen says, holding the phone tightly, "You're a lot smarter than you look, anyone ever tell you that?"

Kathy scoffs. "I was married to a cop for twenty years, I picked up a few things." She wipes her eyes and swallows. She takes a deep breath. "You need to find them."

Cragen nods, his own eyes closing. The tone of his voice matches hers as he says, "I know we do."

HERE

She feels the mattress move, she feels a hand run through her hair, and she moans softly. She reaches a hand out to touch him, but meets flat mattress. Her eyes shoot open, but it's as if they're still closed. She can't see anything, nothing but the blinking red light on the ceiling telling her the bastard is still watching. "El?"

"I'm right here," he says to her, his hand searching blindly for her body.

He touches her and she backs away, gasping, terrified. He's confused, unsure of why she's afraid of him.

"Elliot!" she hisses louder, her breath speeding up and her heart racing.

"Liv," he says, clutching her shoulders. "Honey, it's me. I promise. It's me." He pulls her body into his, holding her and trying to calm her. He feels her shaking and he hates what this is doing to her. "I had to go to the bathroom, I didn't mean to leave you alone in the dark."

She breathes once and squeezes him tighter. And somehow, she finds his lips on the first try. "It's…I just…it's so dark, I thought he…what if he…if he wanted to, he could..."

"Honey, calm down," he kisses her again and cups her face. "I'm not going to let him hurt you. Even in the dark, I will kick his ass."

She kisses him yet again, and the need to feel him, the need to feel something other than fear consumes her. She pulls him against her and lies on her back, yanking at the thin cotton of the boxers he's wearing.

He moans, he breathes hard, and he shimmies out of them. His fingers slide over her skin, he can tell she's still shaking, and he teases the silk strap of the nightgown on her shoulder. "Dark," he mutters between delicate kisses.

"Yeah," she breathes, amazed at how wonderful his hot breath feels on her skin, never having noticed it before.

"Can't see your face," he complains, tugging the fabric off over her head and tossing it away. He runs his fingertips over her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, over the ridge of her lips. He feels her panting against his thumb, and he says, almost inaudibly, "You have to tell me what you're feeling, when you're close. I need to hear you. I'm so used to seeing it all in your eyes, and I…"

She puckers her lips and kisses the pad of his thumb, silencing him. She hears him gasp and knows that in the pitch black room she's touched something deep within him. With their eyes blind to the sights of their intimacy, they're left to only feel and listen to each other, and each touch is magnified by ten.

He moves his hand lower, running down her neck, over her breasts, grazing her nipples. He brushes his palm over her stomach, then dips his digits into the moist folds of her quaking core. He hears her moan and every hair on his body stands at attention.

She slips her own hand up his arm, over his shoulder, and rests it there as she feels, really feels his fingers slip into her. She can feel his skin drag against her sensitive flesh, she feels the way they twist inside of her, the way his fingernails scrape her inner walls gently as his fingers slip out of her. "Oh, my God," she whispers.

He seethes, almost painfully, as the hand not on his shoulder wraps itself around his hardness, and goose bumps crawl up his arms. He's never paid quite so much attention to the way her skin feels like satin when she touches him, the way she freezes him and heats him up at once. He grunts once when she begins to stroke him, and the tension rises, courses through his veins.

She whines when his fingers stop moving within her, she holds her breath when he pulls her hand away from his dick, and she's stunned when his lips crash into hers. A muffled cry escapes, the darkness heightens her sense of taste, too, and she savors his flavor. The mint of the toothpaste their warden provides, the tang of the metallic water they're left to drink, and the spicy sweetness that is purely him.

He pushes into her, shuddering and moaning as he, for the first time, is fully aware of just how intense it feels to slide home. He thrusts slowly, still kissing her. Her nails scrape down his back and the pain is evident but not enough to make him tell her to stop. He drags his lips away from hers, finding his way to the spot on her neck that drives her crazy. He licks at it, his taste buds alive with the zing of her lavender soap and the salt of her skin.

Her legs lock behind him and she urges her into him deeper. "Harder," she whispers into his ear. "Please, El, I'm…God, this feels incredible. You make me feel so fucking good," she purrs.

His teeth graze her flesh as he moves his body faster, giving her what she wants, and the intensity awakens something in him, something new and wonderful. He can feel her, all of her, and he is aware now of her body's reaction to him. "So close," he moans, feeling his muscles begin to twitch and throb.

She nods, forgetting he can't see her, and she moans his name and cries, "Don't stop, baby. More."

He gives her more, and he gives her everything, and he sinks his teeth into her neck as he feels her clench tightly around him. He moans as he suckles on her, the rush of slick coating him now with each movement, and he knows she's reached her peak.

"Yes," she pants. "Right there, El. Oh, my God, you're so fucking good," she moans things she knows will feed his ego and egg him on, but she means every word.

He finds her lips again, he tries like hell to see her eyes in the dark, needing to look into them when he cums because they are his trigger. He closes his eyes, and from memory he sees her brown eyes staring back at him and he grunts, crying her name with his release.

"Oh, God, Elliot!" she says, her head so far back that it's now under her pillow, and her back arched at an impossible angle. She knows it's unlikely, but she swears she can feel him coating her with every shot, and she whispers his name one last time when he stills inside of her.

Their breathing, rapid and harsh, is now the only sound they hear. He kisses her, she rubs her nose against his, and they stay there, basking in the most amazing afterglow of their lives.

Then they're blinded, thrown into brightness without warning.

"Mother fucker," Elliot hisses, the pain rushing through his still overly sensitive body as he blinks and squints to adjust to the change.

Her eyes are squeezed shut as she says, "Seven AM."

With a deep breath, he nods. He kisses her again. "It is so wonderful to see you," he teases, then slips away from her to collect the food and clothes he knows wait for him at the top of the stairs.

THERE

Cragen looks around at the men in the conference room, then sadly nods toward the four teenagers and distraught blonde in the corner. "Morales, when that phone rings, I want you working faster than you ever have, do you hear me?"

Morales nods as he flicks a lot of switches on the device on the table. He plugs Kathy's cell phone into it and says, "You have to keep him on the phone as long as you can."

"Okay," Kathy says, her hands and knees are shaking as she grimly thinks this might be the last time she speaks to the father of her children.

Fin eyes a tall man at the front of the room with disdain, then, and says, "What's he doin' here, anyway? He ain't a part of this."

Cragen takes a step forward. "Agent Porter is here to help. You all know how closely he's worked with both Olivia and Elliot, and this isn't just an NYPD tragedy we could be facing. This has gone federal, and I have US Marshalls on stand-by. They're missing two of their own, too, remember that."

Fin scoffs. "Benson would flip her shit if she knew that hump was tryin' to save her," he gripes.

Dean Porter folds his arms. "That hump is standing right here," he complains, insulted. "We have our differences, but I care about her. I don't want to see anything happen to her, if it hasn't already."

"Hey!" Dickie, Elliot's son, yells. "Aren't you supposed to tell us they're okay? Tell us they're gonna be fine, and you're gonna find them? 'If he hasn't already,' that's real encouraging."

Munch rests a hand on the boy's arm. "They're fine," he says. "They're tough. You know they'd be able to defend themselves if it came down to it."

"They couldn't defend themselves from the guy who took them the first time," Maureen, Elliot's oldest daughter, chimes in. "Explain that, Detective Munch."

Munch shakes his head again. "They never saw that coming. They'd be ready now."

Fin rubs his eyes and yawns as he looks through the folder of evidence they have so far. Stills from the hospital security cameras, a photo of the orderly wheeling their unconscious bodies into a black van with no plates, the pictures of the items in the box, and the note that came with it. "Hey," he says, curious. "Shouldn't we be callin' Liv's fiancée?" he asks, the photograph of her ring in his hand. "Isn't he on some case in…"

Dean snorts.

Kathy chuckles.

Cragen's hand dances down his face and rests on his chin. "She, uh…she lied to you. To, uh, the whole unit. Since this is…she could be…well, you should know…"

"Stabler is her fiancé," Dean said, his arms at his sides now. He shoves his hand in his pockets. "That's one of the reasons, I believe, they were taken together."

Fin's eyes move back to the folder and he lifts up the picture of them kissing. "Oh," he says with a shrug. "Wow."

A knock on the door makes the room full of heads turn. The delivery boy from the day before walks in and strides up to Cragen. "Sign?"

"This again?" Cragen scrawls his signature and asks, "Okay, kid. Who's sending this shit, huh? You need to tell me who is…"

"I don't know his name," the kid in the uniform says quickly.

Cragen drops the envelope onto the table and slides it over to Munch, who opens it. "Look, pal. I need a name, an address, something!"

"I wish i could tell you that! He leaves the packages and instructions on the hood of my van with hundred dollar bills. He finds me, not the other way around," the young man explains. "I'm sorry, I…I'm just the messenger."

Cragen nods at the uniformed officer by the door. "Get him out of here," he says.

The brown-suited guy is escorted from the room as all eyes travel toward Munch.

"What is it?" Fin asks, looking at his partner, who looks whiter than usual.

Munch dangles a lock of dark brown hair, tied together with a red ribbon, from his fingers. "It's Olivia's," he says. "There's a note."

Cragen rips the paper from his hands. "I can get close to them in the dark. Too close. I won't hurt them unless I have to. I'm a man of my word."

Everyone stops breathing. Eyes dart to find other eyes, and they all reflect fear. Fear that won't be squelched until the phone rings.

HERE

"Liv!" Elliot yells, leaping down the stairs. "Liv, baby!"

"What?" she asks. She sits up in the bed, she drops her book, five pages away from being finished, and crawls to him as he sits on the mattress.

He holds up a cell phone as he puts the tray of food down next to him. "He's gonna let us call the kids." He hands her the note that was left at the top of the stops with the cheap, old phone.

She reads it, and she looks at him. "Seriously?" she questions, then looks down again, re-reading the note. "There's only one number stored in this phone, call it at six o'clock. I will flash the lights to let you know it's time. You only have three minutes, so talk fast, and tell your children you love them." She looks back up at him. "Why is he even…"

The lights flicker and before Olivia can finish her question, Elliot is already pushing the send button on the phone. He taps the speaker key and waits.

"Dad!" "Elliot?" "Daddy?" A chorus of voices squeals without a hello.

With tears in his eyes and one hand gripping Olivia's, he breathes out a sob and a "Yeah, it's me. God, I love you guys so much. I am so…so sorry."

"We love you, too," they reply in jumbled succession.

"Daddy, are you okay?" they hear, a girl, Lizzie, the youngest child. "Where's Liv?"

"I'm right here," Olivia chokes out. She wipes her own tears away before flicking at Elliot's.

"We're okay," Elliot tells them. "We don't have a lot of time, guys, I just…I want you to know we're both okay. We're…not hurt. At all. Just..."

"Where are you?" Dickie asks, interrupting, and Elliot knows that's fear in his son's voice and it makes him ache.

Elliot closes his eyes. "I don't know, kid. There aren't any windows here. We…we don't even know if we're still in the city."

"Elliot," a softer, more worried voice says. It's Kathy. "We're gonna find you, okay? Olivia? How are you, I mean…other than.."

"So far," Olivia interrupts, knowing what Kathy means, "So good. I just wish I knew if…"

A beeping, almost like a busy signal, cuts off her words. And then there is silence. "No," Elliot says, shocked. "No!" he smacks the phone, he tries to dial again, but it's dead. Gone. He drops his head to hers and she kisses him.

"At least we know they're all okay," she comforts. "And they know we are."

He nods and takes a deep breath, and he says, "That was…nice of him." He scoffs and pulls their dinner toward the middle of the bed. "Hm," he huffs, picking up a gold foil packet of pills that's resting next to their fork. A black O is scrawled on the label. "He's giving you vitamins." He looks at her, his jaw tight.

"El," she says, terror filling her heart. "Do you think he knows?"

THERE

"Did you get it?" Dean asks, running over to the small man by the computer.

Morales shakes his head. "I needed five minutes, he only gave me three. I did determine that it's a disposable cell phone, and the signal was bouncing to several different towers. Another two minutes and I could have at least given you a central location, but…"

"He knew," Cragen hisses. "He fucking knew!" he shouts, his fist slamming down on the table making the room flinch. "Son of a bitch!"

Fin folds his arms. "You think he knew we'd try to trace the call? And that he knew how long we would need? How could anyone but a trained law..."

Cragen heads toward the door and shouts. "He knows, Fin! He knows everything."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Day Three**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and characters belong to Dick Wolf. TStabler© owns this story.**

_I think we went crazy. Little by little, bits of our sanity just…died. Nothing else mattered, no one else mattered, we started to believe that we really were the only two people in the world. The boredom hit, the fear and the need for physical and emotional connection to each other overwhelmed everything else, so the bed became our sanctuary. We found new positions, new angles, did things neither of us ever even imagined we would ever do. We memorized each other, we discovered each other, for hours, days. It got to the point…you're not going to believe me, but…I think we started to hear each other's thoughts. But then again, I told you, I think we went crazy. _

HERE

"What about that song…that Billy Joel one you like." He looks at her and grins. "My Home? That one."

"For what?" she asks, contemplating a chess move, staring at the marble board their captor has given them.

He watches her move the knight and says, "Our song. You know, the one we danced to at the first Black and White…"

"You remember that?" she scoffs, and she drums her fingers on the chessboard. "Your move."

He sweeps his rook across the board and steals her pawn, and he says, "Of course I remember it. I remember everything about you, me, us." He watches her move her queen and says, "So, yeah? Or we could use the one that was playing when I kissed you for the…"

"Damn it, Elliot!" she snaps, interrupting him. "What's the fucking point?" She flops down her king, forfeiting the game, and she gets off the bed. "Why are you planning a wedding that's never gonna happen?"

He rises and moves to her, hurt. "What do you mean, never…you don't want…"

"Fuck," she bites, "Of course I want to, El. More than anything, but…look around!" She gestures to the nothing that surrounds them. "You know cases like this! You know that they give it two weeks, then the case goes cold, they stop looking for us. Two weeks, Elliot!" She tries to stop her bottom lip from trembling and she blinks. "We're supposed to get married in four months, and they're never gonna get us out of here…I mean, I don't see us getting out of here before then, do you?"

He stares at her, watching her break before his eyes. "Oh, honey, don't give…" then he pauses. "No." His eyes close as he pulls her into his arms.

"What's he waiting for?" she whispers, clawing at his back, gripping him as tightly as she can. "Why doesn't he just kill us?"

"I don't know, baby," he says, kissing her forehead. "But I'm thankful he didn't. I'm not giving up, honey. We're gonna get out of here. Trust me."

"I don't believe you," she breathes, and it's clear she's crying.

He holds her as she finally falls to pieces, sobbing on his shoulder. He looks up into the lens of the camera, he glares and gives it the finger, and then he drops his own head into his lover's neck. He rubs her back, trying to calm them both, but failing.

THERE

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Kathy asks, dry, her arms folded. "Why the hell would I have anything to do with this?"

Dean Porter looks her in the eyes and he smirks. "You hate her, Kathy. You always have."

Kathy's eyes widen. "Hate her? Are you mad?" She shakes her head and says, "She kept Elliot alive for years, she takes care of my kids, she has never been anything but nice to me, she…"

"She stole your husband," Dean adds, cutting in.

"Stole my…she didn't steal anything!" the blonde yells. "She was the one trying to keep me and Elliot together, for Christ's sake! It took four hours and a lot of red wine to finally convince her it was over and to stop butting in!" She runs a hand through her hair. "A lot of people think I'm crazy, you know? For not being bitter. But I knew he was falling in love with her before he did. Nothing happened between them until the divorce was final, she…she actually asked me if I would hate her if she went out to dinner with him, so no, Agent Porter, I did not hire someone to kidnap my ex-husband and his fiancé, because I was the one who helped him pick out the goddamned ring! Stop fucking questioning me and go find them!" She walks out of the squad room, pissed off that he brought her down there for nothing.

Dean clears his throat, he backs up slowly, and he turns, feeling foolish. "Well," he says, stepping into the conference room and looking at Cragen. "I think she's innocent."

"Really?" Cragen asks sarcastically. "How about you sit and help Fin and Munch go through their mail, and stop interrogating the victim's family?" He cringes. Part of his heart breaks every time he has to refer to Elliot and Olivia as victims.

Dean sits, defeated, and picks up an envelope. "Did your tech team ever trace that van?"

"Yeah," Fin says, tossing a phone bill into a box. "Morales used red light cameras to track it to a morgue in Jersey, but when our guys got out there they found the van, empty. And bleached. this guy's smart."

"Son of a bitch must have changed vehicles," Munch says, tearing into another envelope. It's coupons. "They get so much junk mail."

Fin chuckles. "Happens," he says with a shrug. He reaches for a Victoria's Secret catalog. "Oh, hey, now. Benson's got a softer side." He wags his eyebrows and puts the magazine into a pile with others. "Sorry, just…trying to…lighten the mood. This is hard, okay?"

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Porter asks, opening another envelope.

Munch clears his throat. "Letters, threats, warnings," he lists. "Any kind of communication with someone who would take them but not hurt them, maybe…"

"Simon?" Porter interrupts. "I can tell you that he hasn't contacted Olivia in over a year. I'm still watching him."

Fin holds up a piece of paper. "Then who the fuck sent her this?"

"Oh, my God," Dean gasps, dropping his envelope in shock.

"Was that sealed?" Cragen asks, stepping over and ripping the creased photograph out of his hands. "Did she ever see this?"

"No," Fin says. "I just opened it. No return address so they probably thought it was a chain letter or somethin' and ignored it."

Cragen's nostrils flare and he shakes his head. "So he steals a van from one morgue, drives to another one, and now this? Shit, he obviously has access to the medical examiner's office." He slaps the autopsy photo of Serena Benson down on the table and points to it. "I don't care if it takes us a fucking month. No one sleeps, no one eats, until we find them, because I will not let that happen to them, am I clear?"

"Crystal," Fin says with a hard swallow. He looks at the table, at the photograph of his friend's mother lying a cold slab, and he vows that he will find Olivia and Elliot, if he has to do it by himself.

HERE

She watches him come down the stairs, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and her eyes focus on the cuts of his muscles the cotton doesn't cover. "I'm sorry," she says as he sits next to her.

He moves the tray of food between them and he picks up their fork. "For what?"

"Before," she shrugs. "I'm sorry I lost it with you. I just…I can't think straight anymore, and I'm terrified, and…"

"Shh," he hushes, holding a forkful of pasta in front of her lips. "Don't apologize." He kisses her nose as she chews on the food, and he reaches for the glass of juice on the tray. He takes a sip, then brings it to her lips. And he makes a soft indeterminable noise.

"What?" she says after she's swallowed.

He drops the fork and he shakes his head. "I don't want to sound stupid."

"You won't," she assures him, and she holds a piece of buttered bread to his mouth. She smiles when he looks into her eyes, a menacing, seductive, playful look. She bites her lip when he bites the bread and she wishes it was her neck. "What?"

He chews, moves closer to her, and he says, "This is kinda nice." He winds more pasta around his fork. "Is that crazy? We're being held hostage by a psychopath that could come down here in the middle of the night and do whatever the hell he wants in the fucking dark, but I'm enjoying being alone with you. We spend hours in bed, doing nothing but loving each other, the food's not half bad…"

She chuckles and opens her mouth for him to feed her. She chews and nods. "Stockholm syndrome," she says with her mouth full. "Classic case."

He squints and says, "Shit." Then he laughs and takes a sip of juice. "He, uh, he left you another gift. I'm beginning to feel unloved."

She nudges him and lifts the box into her hands. "Maybe he just thinks you're difficult to shop for." She clears her throat and peels off the ribbon, and the card, a small square with an O written on it, falls into her lap.

He reaches for it, intentionally slipping his fingers against her skin as he picks it up, and he smirks at her.

She gives him a playful look, then turns her attention back to the box. "What the hell?" she questions. She lifts a black photo album out of the package and gives Elliot the typed note.

He narrows his eyes as he reads, "You're a beautiful woman, made of beautiful pieces. All of Elliot's favorite places to kiss, to touch, to taste. They're all perfect, but you must look at the bigger picture to appreciate your true beauty the way I do."

"El," she says when he's finished. She hands him the photo album, her hand shaking. Her skin has gone white and her lip is being chewed to bits between her teeth.

He drops the letter and takes the black book, and he flips through the pages. Each small photo gets under his skin. Close up images of the bend of her elbow, her ear, behind her knees, the arch of her foot. Places no one should ever see that closely, no one but him. "What the hell is…" and that's when he notices the photos are double sided. "Bigger picture," he mumbles.

"What are you doing?" she asks, watching with wide eyes as he takes each image out of its sleeve and flips it over on the bed. "El, what…oh."

He moves them like puzzle pieces, fitting them together until he does, in fact, see a bigger picture. "Liv," he whispers. He takes her hand and squeezes.

"He was watching me," she says with a sniffle. "Even then."

Elliot kisses her cheek and looks back down at the spread of pictures, pieced together to show a full body shot of Olivia fast asleep, on her old bed in her old apartment, two years ago. His heart pounds and his blood boils, but he thanks God that the man hasn't hurt her. That he hasn't even tried. "They'll find us, honey," he tells her. Though, he's not sure he believes his own words.

THERE

Cragen yawns as he pours a cup of coffee. His ninth. "Whose turn is it?" he asks.

Munch raises a skeletal hand. "Mine," he shouts and he stands. He climbs the stairs, heading for the bunkroom, passing Fin on his way.

"This bites," Fin complains. "None of their open cases involve anyone with any connection to a morgue, or the hospital. No one we talked to is even holding that bad of a grudge." He runs a hand down as his face as he meets his captain at the coffee pot. "A couple of them even offered to help find 'em."

Cragen huffs. "Even the people they've put away are worried," he says. "This is bad."

"It gets worse," Morales says, coming into the squad room. "I tapped into the Jersey system, ran a search. I found our guy on several red-light cameras, driving an unmarked white van with no plates, just a temp in the window that expired in Nineteen-Eighty-Nine."

"That's good news," Fin says. "How is that…"

"I lost the trail when the van turned off Route Eighty," Morales continues, cutting Fin off. "They're not in Jersey anymore. I don't…I don't know where they are."

Cragen takes a deep breath and nods. "I'll make some calls to surrounding states, tell them to keep an eye out for…"

"The van?" Morales asks. "Don't bother. Porter's guys found it at a gas station just off the…"

"Highway," Cragen finishes. "Damn it to Hell!"

Fin sips his coffee and looks toward the door, hearing footsteps. His eyes widen. "Hey!" he says brightly.

The other eyes in the room turn to see Brian Cassidy, a former SVU detective, standing in the doorway, looking shaky. "I, uh, I got something you guys need to see."

"What?" Cragen asks, walking toward his one-time charge. "What is it?"

"It came to our unit," Brian says, sitting at Elliot's desk. He takes a silver disk out of a clear plastic container. "It was handed to me, but I think...well...anyway..." He slips the disc into the tower and he waits.

Cassidy, Cragen, Morales, and Fin watch the screen blink a few times, and then a video begins to play. There is silence as they all watch Olivia and Elliot on the screen.

"This is just ten minutes of them playing Monopoly," Cassidy says, clicking a button on the mouse to fast forward. "This is…this is when it gets…bad."

The screen goes dark, the film is now playing in night-vision, making Elliot and Olivia look neon green. Cragen sucks in a harsh breath as he watches the video of Elliot sliding his hand along the walls of his prison, knocking.

"What's he doing?" Fin asks, transfixed.

Cragen swallows hard. "Looking for a hollow spot to break through."

The men continue watching as the screen blinks and comes back to a different scene. Elliot is on his knees in the small shower space, digging at the drain with what looks like a fork. When he realizes it isn't doing any good, he jabs the fork into the ground over and over again until it breaks and then he slumps over. He's crying.

The camera swivels, then, panning around the room, and it focuses on Olivia, sitting up in the bed, looking around. Her hands sweep over the mattress, making it clear that she can't see anything at all. Her mouth moves, though they can't hear what she says.

Elliot moves into the frame and crawls into the bad, searching the air in front of him for her body. He finds her, wraps his arms around her, and cries in her arms.

The camera swivels again, just a hair to the left, and the man who has captured them is hovering over Olivia's side of the bed. Cragen gasps, he knows that in the darkness, they can't see him at all. He's wearing a ski-mask, they can't see his face, but he turns his head to look into the lens of the camera, and he waves just before the screen goes blank.

A date appears on the screen. It fades.

"Oh, my God," Cragen breathes. "That was yesterday."

Fin drops his coffee cup and runs his hand down his face. "Morales?"

"It's not a live feed, Fin," the techie says. "I can't trace footage from a DVD. I'm sorry. Best I can do is tell you what kind of camera it is."

"Cassidy," Cragen says, looking at the younger detective, "Was this in an envelope?"

Brain bites his lip and shakes his head. "No," he says. "The mail guy just handed it to me with a Post-It note on it. All it said was BC." He peels the note off of the jewel case and hands it to Cragen, who flushes. "That's probably why it came to me."

"That's not a B," he says, crumpling the note in his hands. "It's a D. This was meant for me, and he stopped using the delivery service, which means he knows we were tailing the driver, which means…"

Fin interrupts, his eyes dark. "He's here."

The men who've been surrounding Elliot's computer look up, look around, look at each other. Cassidy is the first to speak, and it's something they are all thinking. "Fuck."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Day Four**

**DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns SVU and the characters; TStabler© owns the story you're about to read.**

_It wasn't terrifying anymore, just frustrating. Slightly scary. Whoever had us didn't want us dead, he didn't want us to starve. He gave us everything he thought we needed, except fresh air and exercise. Well, we got plenty of exercise, on our own. We couldn't leave that white box, though. All we had to hope for was the possibility of him getting bored with us, or someone finding out where we were. It didn't look like either was happening any time soon._

HERE

He rolls his head to his left, he moans and his closed eyes twitch. He bucks his hips involuntarily, instinctively, and he feels something hot, wet, and soft envelop his shaft. He isn't even aware of how hard he is, and he smirks, moaning again. He blinks his eyes open, the darkness surrounding him. "Liv, that better fucking be you."

She hums an affirmative sound, with him still in her mouth, and she hears him grunt in response. She feels his hands slip through her hair, and he tugs lightly as her head bobs. She moans as she sucks him, making him throb.

He chokes on his breath as he guides her head up and down, thrusting his hips lightly, enabling her to take more of him. All of him. "Shit," he groans. "God, I wish I could see you right now."

And like magic, the lights come on, brightness surrounds them suddenly, but they're used to it by now. The sudden change in light doesn't faze them much, and they're staring intently into each other's eyes instead of squinting at the bulbs.

He watches her mouth wrap over his thick length, and he bites his lip to keep from saying something vulgar. "Fuck," he hisses, gazing down the bed at her, nestled between his legs.

She's staring back at him with a gleam in her eyes, a smirk on her face. She slips her mouth almost all the way off of him, sucks lightly on just the head of him, then slips down over him again.

"Oh, Jesus, baby," he seethes, pulling harder on her hair. He spits out another "Fuck," and he rolls his eyes and moans again.

She hums as she sucks. It's more than he can take, she knows it. She's just waiting for him to lose it, get rough with her, take her away from the Hell they're locked in and make her forget about it. She groans something low and deep, and the vibrations course through him, even she can feel it.

"Holy shit," he gasps as his eyes close. He pulls her hair again, harder, and lets one hand drop to the side of her face, he thrusts into and out of her mouth faster and deeper, and whispers her name. "Liv, fuck, yes, baby. God, Liv."

She feels him stiffen even more, she knows he's close. She narrows her eyes and slips off of him just long enough to whisper, "Let go." She swallows him again, and closes her eyes as he fills her mouth.

His grunts are unintelligible as he bucks into her eager mouth. He's gripping her hair so tightly he's afraid if she moves he'll rip a chunk out, but he can't help it, she drives him mad. He closes his eyes, unwillingly. He wants to watch her swallow, he wants to watch her smile at him the way she does as she climbs up his body and slips her own arousal over his.

She grins, wipes the corners of her mouth, and does just what he knows she will do. She snakes her body up and over his, and she gives her hips a swivel, coating him in her wetness, and she chuckles when he whines, still too sensitive to take it. "Good morning," she whispers.

He gives her a wicked look, then lifts his head to kiss her hard. His hands are still wrapped in her hair, so he twists and keeps her pressed against his lips. He kisses her fervently for a moment, then slows down. He's gentle, now, and he's caressing her, sliding his fingers through her silky locks. "Good morning," he whispers against their kiss.

She smiles, but the hard bang on the steel door makes her grin fade. "I'll go," she says, moving.

He shakes his head. "No," he tells her. "Stay here." He kisses her, then disentangles himself from her body and tugs a sheet around his waist.

She sighs as she watches him walk toward the stairs, afraid of what's waiting for them at the top.

THERE

"Porter," Cragen barks, his arms crossed, "You have ten seconds to tell me why Simon Marsden is in that room!"

Dean Porter turns, looking at Captain Cragen with shock in his eyes. "You know damn well why!"

Cragen takes a step into the pit. "Yesterday, you told my entire crew that there's no way he could be involved. Now you've got him in there, and you're questioning him like he killed someone! You can't have it both ways, Porter!"

"Don," Porter says, sighing. "What if I was wrong? What if it is him?" He runs a hand down his face. "Think about it. Payback for giving him up, for getting him caught up in…"

"Why are you so convinced it has to be family?" Cragen interrupts. "Even if it was, you do realize whoever took them still has them, right? A few states away. Simon has been in the city the whole time."

Porter shakes his head. "Someone took them. Both of them…and hasn't hurt them. They're safe, and being taken care of like children or pets or something. It's sick, but it's not violent. Only someone who loves them would take them, together, and not hurt them."

Cragen sighs. "You have a point," he admits, "But Simon didn't even know they were missing until you brought him down here. He hasn't spoken to Olivia in over a year." He clears his throat and adds, "Besides, haven't we already figured out that it's gotta be someone with contacts in the unit, or at least in the building? This fucker knows every step we take, Dean."

Dean raises a finger. "Ah!" he exclaims. "What if he bugged the place? We know someone is with them, all the time, watching them wherever they are. So either someone is here relaying information to him, or he's just listening. Watching somehow. But that doesn't explain why…"

"Let Simon go," Cragen says, ignoring Porter. "I gotta get Morales down here."

"What?" Porter asked. "Why?"

"Something you just said," Cragen began. "A while back, someone we trusted bugged the place. And he has one hell of a grudge against Olivia and Elliot."

Porter watched Cragen leave and then looked back at the two-way mirror. He sighed and walked into the interrogation room. "You really want me to believe you didn't do this, don't you?"

Simon lifts his head up from where it had been, hidden in his hands, and he says, "Of course, I didn't do it! I love my sister, Agent Porter. Whether you believe me or not, I do. I would never rip her away from her life, especially not in her condition."

"What condition?" Porter asks, suddenly worried.

"You…wait, you guys you don't know…she…" Simon breaks off and shakes his head again. "Then who sent me this?" he asks, taking out his cell phone. He scrolls through the messages, finding the one to which he's referring, and hands it to Porter. "I assumed it was Elliot, or Olivia. I don't have their numbers anymore. But you said they've been gone for days with no cell phones, so I thought…"

"Shit," Porter snaps, tossing the phone back to Simon. He runs out of the room, into the squad room. "Munch! Fin! We have a problem. A big one."

HERE

After breakfast, the two captives showered in their corner, dried off, and snuggled under the covers. However, their eyes were on the pile of books and things their kidnapper had given them.

"We made the front page," Elliot says, nodding toward the folded piece of newspaper on the empty tray. He scoffs then. "Bastard blacked out the date and…that's the only article he sent down here. He wants us to know that people are worried, but he doesn't want us to know how long we've been gone or…"

"He doesn't want us to know anything. Not without his permission," Olivia says, her naked body curling around his. Her eyes travel up and down the pile of books on the floor beside the bed. "He's considerate, at least," she mumbles seductively, turning her eyes up at him.

He chuckles, knowing that she's spotted the thick copy of the Kama Sutra at the top of the pile. Then he sighs. "I swear, I will a find a way to get us out of here before…"

"Stop making that promise," she says, her voice biting now. "It's really pissing me off. It's not making me feel any better, especially not now."

He blinks at her. "Sorry," he whispers. "I just…I'm scared, too, Liv. Did you ever think I say it to make myself feel better?"

She turns her eyes toward him. "Oh, honey, I…I'm sorry." She kisses his shoulder, just where her lips lie against him. "He sent those vitamins down again, and some of those books are…" Then one hand smoothes over her stomach and she closes her eyes. "I know he knows what's wrong with me," she whispers to him. "And he's not telling us."

He nods and whispers, "We'll find out eventually," he says. Then he sits up. "I wanna read you something."

"God, please," she whines when he gets up. "El, don't read _Diabetes and You_, to me," she whines. "And if you're reaching for that copy of _What to Expect When You're Expecting _I will…"

He holds up the newspaper and raises his eyebrow. "You wanna stop snapping at me, today, please?" He sighs and sinks back into the bed, then wraps her in his arms. "I know you're scared, I know this is aggravating, but, baby, we are all we've got. We can't let this get to us, we can't let this tear us apart. Maybe that's what he wants."

She takes a deep breath and she closes her eyes. "You're right," she whispers. "You know how much I love you?"

He smiles down at her, kisses her forehead, and says, "As much as I love you." He flips open the newspaper page, taking a glance at the photo of them that takes up most of it, and he scans the article. "Here," he says, "Captain Donald Cragen of the Manhattan Special Victims Unit, of which both missing detectives are elite members, promises he will not rest until the two are found and brought home. 'This case will be open and active,' says Cragen, 'As long as it takes." He kisses her again. "See? You feel better now?"

She lets out a soft sound, almost as if she's surprised. "You think he'll really find us?" she asks, and she sniffles. Crying again.

"No doubt in my mind," he says, kissing her softly. "So I need you to stop worrying, baby. We are going to be fine."

She sniffles again. "El, who do you think is…"

"I don't know, sweetheart," he says, kissing her closed eyelids. "When I find out, he's gonna be sorry he ever fucked with us."

She chuckles, then, and opens her eyes. "You don't think that camera's live, do you? I mean, he's not broadcasting this online or something, is he?"

"I'm sure," Elliot began, turning onto his side, "That if that was the case, Morales would have figured it out and Cragen would have been down here long ago."

She looks relieved as she scoots closer to him, and she slips her hands up and down his arms. "I guess," she says. "So what do you think?" she asks, then, looking up at him. "What do you think Doctor Henderson would have said if we actually got to see him?"

He smiles. He kisses the end of her nose. Then he reaches over to the pile of books and grabs two from the top. "Well," he said. "Let's read some of these and figure it out." He smirks. "Can we start with this one?"

She grins back at him and eyes the Kama Sutra in his hands. "How is that gonna tell us what's…"

"Oh," he interrupts. "It's not. But it's gonna distract the shit out of us." He chuckles.

She grabs the book, tosses it over her shoulder. "We don't need a book, El," she says with a sexy smile. But before she can move closer to him, the chains rattle, the locks hitch.

They freeze as the door slides against the tiles, and before she can stop him he's up and running, but he knows he won't make it. He hasn't yet.

He stops in his tracks when the door slams. He sighs, and he turns back toward the bed. "Ya know, I think tomorrow I'm just gonna hang out up on the top step."

She laughs and shakes her head, and then she crooks a finger at him.

He smiles back at her and moves toward her, as if he's being pulled by some invisible force. "Whatever it is, I'll get it later." He covers her body with his, and he kisses her softly, and he whispers, "Remind me to thank him before I kill him."

THERE

Cragen rubs his eyes and looks up at Morales. "How long has it been there?" he asks.

Morales holds a very tiny microphone between a pair of tweezers. "This model is obsolete," he says. "They stopped production in late Two-Thousand-Six, so it was probably planted before then."

Munch clears his throat. "Someone has been listening to every conversation we have had in this room for six years?"

Cragen blinks. "It's been there for six years," he says. "But I don't think he's been listening that long." He scratches his head. "I think I know, but he's…he's in jail…unless he…" He looks around and his eyes land on Morales. "Can you find out who bought that thing?"

Morales grins. "If the account linked with the serial number is still active, yes." He slips the tiny bug into a glass jar. "These were only sold in model-specific batches to federal agencies, law enforcement officials, and corporate news organizations. I will get you the name of the company that was issued this particular model in a jiffy." He runs out of the conference room, whizzing by Ed Tucker on his way.

"Any luck?" Tucker asks, his hands in his pockets.

"We're getting closer," Cragen says. "But now we have a, um, time constraint. We're risking a lot of lives if we don't find them in time."

"How long?" Tucker asks, worried.

Porter runs a hand down his face. "Seven months," he says. "Maybe eight. Depends."

Tucker looks around and sees the worried faces of Fin and Munch, and he knows it's a bad time to do what he's about to do, but he doesn't have a choice. "The chief wants you, Don," he says. "That's why I'm here. He…he wants to talk to you about…well, he thinks you need to hand over the case and get back to…"

"Oh, he does?" Cragen snaps. "We'll see about that." He bolts from the room, unaware of the package lying on his desk in his office. A package that will turn the case around. And make him a suspect.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Day Five**

**DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns SVU and the characters; TStabler© owns the story you're about to read.**

_We knew he'd been paying us little visits in the night, in the dark. We would wake up to see new additions to our...the only word for it is cell. A prison cell. He was trying like hell to make us like being there, to make us forget that we had a life that he'd ripped us away from. To make us enjoy being watched by him. Ya know what's really scary? Sad, even? It was starting to work._

THERE

Ed Tucker paces back and forth, his head shaking and his hands in his pockets. "You know what this looks like, Don."

Cragen, sitting at his desk, white and still, nods. "I know," he says. "But you know, the entire department knows, I didn't do this."

Tucker turns to him, then. "You're the only one getting these little...presents. How are they getting passed security? How does whoever took Benson and Stabler know what we are gonna do before we do it? You said it yourself, you think someone in the unit has a hand in it."

"I didn't mean me!" Cragen yells, standing. He flicks the cardboard box on his desk. "This means less than shit, and if this is the hard evidence you're gonna use to make a case, you're fucked! It's circumstantial at best!"

Tucker shakes his head. "It's a bloody fingerprint, Don," he whispers, leaning over the desk. "Yours. And it's impressed on the collar! That's the shirt Olivia was wearing at the hospital, we have proof on tape. If you can explain..."

"Before they left," Cragen interrupts, "There was a scuffle in interrogation. Bastard hit me, hard. I cupped my nose and backed away, Elliot restrained him, Olivia came over to me to see if I was okay. I guess...maybe I grabbed her shoulder..."

"You guess? Maybe?" Tucker scoffs. "Tutuola," he barks, turning. "Take that shirt down to the lab. Then go see if your tech guys have access to the feed from your interrogation room."

"Yeah," Fin says, stunned. He lifts up the shirt, the last thing he remembers seeing Olivia in, and he closes his eyes. He sighs, then leaves, following Tucker's orders, and a few of his own.

Morales, uncomfortable in the corner chair, raises a finger. "If I may interrupt this...inquisition...just for a moment?"

Tucker folds his arms and clears his throat. "What?"

"The bug we found in the conference room," Morales says, "Is active. It was one of two hundred, ordered by and delivered to the New York Ledger." He holds up the evidence bag and waves it slightly. "Every reporter, photographer, analyst, executive, and freelancer could have..."

"Names," Tucker yells. "I want a list of names. Cross-referenced with open SVU cases, personal records, look into dating history, and Don...I need the names of informants and reporters you..."

Cragen chuckles, bitterly and angrily. "You might as well just use the Yellow Pages," he says. "Do you know how many reporters come and go through here? How many of them have a bone to pick with Olivia and Elliot?"

Tucker snaps, then, and slams his hands down on Cragen's desk. He leans over, a dark look in his eyes. "Look in the box, Cragen!" he fumes. "This isn't about Olivia and Elliot! This is about you!"

Cragen blinks, breathes, and looks down. He runs a hand down his face as Elliot's signed transfer forms stare back at him, shredded to bits, with a note from the maniac who seems to be one step ahead of them. He lifts the letter into a shaking hand, and he reads it for the fourth time. "You want me to stand down," he says, looking back up at Tucker, "But I can't. You can shadow me, tail me, but I cannot and will not abandon this case."

Tucker clicks his tongue. "I know you won't," he says. "You make a move, I'm gonna be right there making it with you." He glances at the two photographs, also from the box of tricks, and sighs. "I want them home, too, Don." He turns back to Morales. "Can you get those names?"

Morales nods, stands, and leaves, hoping the list won't be too long.

HERE

Olivia is sitting upright in the bed, a book in her hands, but she's only pretending to read. Her eyes are focused on Elliot. The way his body moves and ripples with each powerful blow to the punching bag, which their benefactor installed while they were sleeping, cloaked in blackness. She bites her lip when he pulls his arm back, and she stifles a moan when his fist makes contact with the red leather.

He chuckles as he moves, bobbing and jabbing. "See something you like, Benson?"

She clears her throat and turns the page of her book, as if she's embarrassed by him catching her staring, as if she hasn't been staring for years.

He stops moving, he grabs the bag to still its swinging, and he pants as he asks, "What's the matter?"

She shakes her head, her eyes now glued to the words of the book. "Nothing," she whispers.

"Bullshit," he spits, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He moves slowly toward her, kneels down beside her, and looks up. "What is it?"

"What day is it?" she asks, turning her head to look down at him. "How long have we been down here, because it feels like months." She shakes her head, licks her lips, and looks up at the white ceiling. "Are we missing someone's birthday? Is there a war raging out there that we should know about? Did someone we know die, and we're down here in this pit, completely unaware?"

He hums. "All of that's possible," he tells her, being blunt and honest. "There's nothing we can do about it, though. Honey, we have nothing down here but each other. For now, that's gonna have to be enough, because it's everything."

She looks away from him, knowing he's right but hating him for it. "It always has been," she mumbles. "You never opened that box," she says louder, turning the page of her book. "It's for you, this time. Still feeling unloved?"

He laughs, kisses her cheek, and gets to his feet. He takes a few deep breaths as he moves toward the cardboard box in the middle of the floor. "You think it's a TV?"

"Yeah, right," she snorts. "More likely to be my brother's severed head, at this point."

"Liv," he says, frozen. "Don't even joke about that, baby." He brushes away the anxiety he now feels and he tears the packing tape off of the box. He swings the flaps open, and he tilts his head. "Shit," he says softly.

"What?" she asks, off of the bed and running over to him. She drops to her knees at his side, and looks into the box. "Oh...oh wow," she says, lifting a few photographs out of the package.

"I guess he just wanted to tell us they were all okay," Elliot suggests, taking his time, looking at the pictures with his lover. The unit, Cragen, Tucker, and Simon are shown in clear, bright pictures taken at the station. "The kids," he breathes, staring at a photo of his four children huddled around a cell phone and computer, and his heart lurches. "This must have been when..."

"We called them," Olivia nods, then drops the pictures to her feet. "Hey," she says, her eyes narrowing as she reaches for something else. She grabs thin strips of paper, turning and twisting them to decipher what they are. "These are your transfer papers, El."

"What?" he gasps, looking for himself. "No, that...I turned these in months ago. They were on Cragen's desk, I was waiting for him to..."

"You don't think..." she interrupts, tilting her head.

He thinks for a moment, almost considering that it could be. "No," he affirms then with a hard shake of his head. "No way."

"There's a letter," she says, spotting the folded note at the bottom of the box.

Exhaling, he picks it up and unfolds it. "Stabler," he reads, "As you can see, your friends and family are safe. I won't hurt them, trust me. I've also taken the liberty of fixing a mistake you've made, making sure you can't and don't leave her when and if you return to work, which won't be for quite some time. She shouldn't be working in her condition, you know it and I know it. The stress alone could do her harm. She'd never take time off on her own. Think of this as a vacation, unfortunately without the tan. If you need anything that I haven't offered you, feel free to send me a postcard."

She's confused, now, and the fear that had been fading returned full force. "What the fuck is he..."

"Postcards," Elliot interrupts, his hands shifting around in the box. He curses when he grabs several small, stiff sheets of paper. "Blank postcards. What, he wants us to write to him and slip them under the fucking door? Really?"

"He's keeping us down here because he doesn't want me to work while I'm..." she blinks. "Who the hell..."

He looks at her and says, "Tonight." He tosses everything back in the box. Everything but a postcard and a pen. "I'm gonna get answers."

THERE

"You followed them to the hospital," Trevor Langan said, his arms crossed. "You knew they were together, and you thought you knew why she needed to see the doctor, so you followed them to find out if you were right."

"No," Cragen says flatly.

Trevor takes two steps to his left. He smirks and takes two steps back to his right. "You also knew that if those test results came back positive, you would have to sign Stabler's transfer papers and follow protocol, because hiding a relationship is easy, but you can't hide a baby." He takes a step forward and uncrosses his arms. "How am I doing so far?"

Cragen rolls his eyes. "You're wasting your time with this! They could be in serious trouble!"

"News of them being together, let alone having a child together, would not only jeopardize their careers, but yours, because you knew when they started seeing each other, when they got engaged, and you did nothing!" Langan accuses. "You needed to fix things. Having been in and out of that hospital thousands of times, you know that the storage closet isn't caught on camera. You're a cop, a good one at that, so you knew how to get them out of there without being noticed."

"Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a kid?" Cragen asks, serious, looking up at Trevor.

Trevor holds up a hand. "You love them, like your own children, so you told whoever is working with you to take them someplace far away, someplace safe, and to take care of them. You told him to make sure he keeps you informed, you wanted pictures, video, proof that they're okay, because part of you doesn't trust him." He leans over the table again. "You shredded the transfer papers, the ones that have been sitting on your desk for months, because you can't stand to lose him. You're giving them time away from prying eyes to stop the gossip, and you've ensured that she will be far away from any kind of danger for the next nine months! It all fits, Captain Cragen!"

Cragen rises to his feet and shouted, "Langan, God damn it, I did not..."

"I know you didn't," Trevor whispers as he rests a hand on Cragen's shoulder. "But any good attorney will do exactly what I just did. You don't have any other suspects, Don. All a jury is gonna need to hear is that you were the only person with access to half of the things the kidnapper sent you and the information that's somehow been leaking to this fucker. This looks bad, and prosecution is gonna make it look worse."

Tucker, standing in the corner, nods. "The weasel is right," he says, ignoring the offended snort from Trevor. "Don, you haven't been charged with anything, but if we don't find a new lead soon, you will be. And there's not a damn thing anyone in this unit can do to stop it."

"I wouldn't say that," Fin says proudly, smirking as he walks into the room. "I think I found our mole."

HERE

"Oh, my God..." Olivia pants, her eyes closing, her head dropping to her left. "Jesus, I can't feel...anything...anymore," she breathes.

Elliot chuckles, slipping out of her and pulling her up as he rolls over onto his back. "That's the point," he whispers, his own breath ragged. "You feel me, though," he says softly, "Right?"

She nods against his chest, still panting and damp from the slight sheen of sweat covering her body. "Only you," she says, pressing herself closer to him.

They wait, silently cuddled together, until their bodies calm and they can breathe again. And then he speaks. "You think he got my postcard?"

She chuckles. "Maybe it got lost in the mail."

He laughs with her, until the lights above them go out, and he gasps as he stares at the ceiling. He tilts his head and says, "Baby, look up."

She rolls over, off of her lover onto her back, and the same soft gasp that left his lips leaves hers. "They're...beautiful."

He nods, and his eyes travel over the glowing stars dotting the ceiling. He looks to his right, and he's suddenly sad. The new decorations don't make the room any brighter, he still can't see her. He looks back up and follows the glimmering lights to their source. "He's projecting them..." he says with a huff. "From the camera."

"Still," she says, dropping her head back to his chest as she nestles near him again, "They're beautiful. This is almost romantic." She chuckles and nuzzles him.

"I love you," he whispers, trying to find her mouth, but kissing whatever skin his lips land on along the way.

She's still gazing up at the "stars" as she whispers, "I love you, too." She feels his hand snake over her stomach, and she smiles. The joy is short lived when fear creeps back in, a nagging voice that reminds her she might not live to be her child's mother. Then she notices something, and she wonders if he sees it, too. "El?"

"Yeah?" he breathes against her neck.

"What did you say to him?" she asks. "What did you tell him in that postcard?"

He sighs and pulls her naked form against his. "I asked him to tell us where we were. To at least give us that." He kisses the back of her shoulder. "Why?"

"I think he did," she says, eyeing the imposturous night sky above them. "Do you see it?"

He squints, he plays a mental game of connect the dots, then he sees the letters. Then he knows. "Yeah," he says, nodding against her skin. "But what the hell would...why would we be there? Who would take us there?"

"I don't know," she answers, and as soon as the words leave her lips, the camera lens swivels, the stars are gone and she knows their captor is once again focused on them. She stares at the red light on the camera, and her lips curl into a small smirk as her hand snakes over Elliot's chest and down, slipping between his legs.

"Oh, hello," he moans, his own fingertips roaming her body, finding flesh of their own to toy with. "You haven't had enough of me yet?"

"Never," she whispers, teasing him. Her eyes move from the camera to Elliot, and she blindly searches for his mouth. And that's all it remains tonight, slow, sweet kissing and busy fingers, because they aren't just teasing each other tonight, and they both know it. They have an audience, and tonight, they're giving him what he wants.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Day Six. Or...is it? (evil laughter)**

**DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns SVU and the characters; TStabler© owns the story you're about to read.**

_I stopped asking what day it was. I stopped asking if we'd be saved. I stopped caring about what was going on beyond the four walls we were kept in. I started caring more about us. Only us, and the child that, by now, we knew we were having. He sent down vitamins, books, one of those S-shaped pillows, anything and everything for us. The only time we were ever nervous, at all, was ten o'clock. When the lights went out. And even that fear was starting to fade._

HERE

He watches as her balled fists hit the bag with deftness and skill he has only seen in his fellow Marines, and he grins. "Remind me never to challenge you to a fight," he says, raising an eyebrow.

She chuckles and turns to look at him, and she licks her lips. He's naked, as he has been for days, not seeing the point in clothes anymore. "I would kick your ass, and you know it," she says, resuming her jabbing. She takes it easy, knowing that overexertion could hurt her child, but she needs to do something physical, besides sleep with Elliot.

He narrows his eyes at her, gets off the bed, and heads over to her. He grips the punching bag and presses into it, keeping it still as she hits it. "Come on, baby," he chides, "Hit it."

She smirks, knowing what he's up to, what he wants to get out of her. What he wants to relive. She hits harder, keeping her lower body loose for the sake of their child, and she feels a sense of pride when she hears him "oof" and "hmph" as her blows land hard, through the bag.

"That all you got, Benson?" he teases, and he looks at her pointedly, hoping she'll remember.

She stops punching, she stops moving, and her arms drop to her sides. She looks at him, really looks at him, and for the first time she sees how time has changed him since the first time he said that to her. He's thicker than he was when they first met, the first time he interrupted a workout like this, but it's all muscle. His hair is thinner, his jaw is wider, his eyes are deeper set but just as blue as ever, and she knows more of him now than she did then. Her eyes trail down his form. She grins. She knows every inch of him.

He taps the bag, making it swing toward her, and he smiles. "Anyone ever tell you, you hit like a girl?"

She moves around the bag, her hands find his flesh, she brushes her fingertips along every bulging muscle. "So do you, Stabler," she jibes, spouting out the words she once used to insult him, years ago.

"It's a compliment," he whispers, breathing her in. She's so close to him now, he can smell her, almost taste her, and his own fingers graze the satin skin of her arm.

Her hands slip up his back, wind around his neck, and she's moving closer. Closer. She is pressed against him now, she can feel his thick, hard, length against her thigh and bit of her stomach. She moans as she leans toward him, her lips parted.

The banging on the door breaks them apart. They both turn and wait. "You," he says, "Stay here."

She sighs as he leaves her, and she leans back against the punching bag. Thankful as she is that their kidnapper is taking care of them, she hates his timing.

THERE

Ed Tucker slowly runs a hand along the edge of Olivia's vacant desk, sighing with closed eyes. "You all know," he says to the men and women in the squad room, "That we are now on borrowed time. They've been gone for two weeks." He turns to face the group. "I am just as appalled by the accusations against Captain Cragen as you all are, but we can't let it get in the way of finding Benson and Stabler. There's more at risk here than most of you know."

Munch clears his throat. "Morales narrowed down the list of possible suspects, based on who had access to this squad room six years ago and who may have had that bug." He hands each officer a list. "Find the highlighted people and go ask questions."

Tucker nods once, and the group disperses, then he sighs. "What are you gonna do, Tutuola?"

Fin folds his arms. "I'm takin' care of our pest problem," he says, looking narrowly at a young rookie standing near the door. "Someone, I think, is playin' for the wrong team," he almost growls. He sees the young man gulp and he chuckles. "I'm gonna ask Taylor over there a few questions of my own, in my own way." He stands and moves toward the cop, but Tucker stops him.

"Hey," Tucker says.

"What?" Fin questions.

Tucker's eyes narrow. "If you wanna channel your inner Stabler and break a few ribs, I'll look the other way."

Fin grins and nods, then heads toward the boyish cop, who shrinks in fear when Fin slaps his shoulder.

Munch shakes his head and turns to Tucker. "So," he begins. "I have six names on my list. Wanna help me dig these termites out of the woodwork?"

Tucker nods and takes the list from Munch. He scans the paper, not recognizing anyone, until the last name. "Hold it," he says, pointing, "This guy. Isn't he that reporter..."

"They're all reporters," Munch interrupts. "They all have a connection to Olivia, Elliot, or this unit."

Tucker snorts. "I know that," he says as he rolls his eyes. "I was going to say...he's the guy they just transferred to New Orleans."

"Who's they?" Munch asks. "New Orleans?"

"They," Tucker says, "Are the FBI. Ask your friend Porter about him, see what he says. I'll make a call to a friend of mine in a department out there. French Quarter."

Munch peers at Tucker over his glasses. "Porter is not my friend," he says. "Never was, never will be." He grimaces as Tucker hands him back the list, then he scans it for himself, landing on the same name that gave Tucker pause. "I know you," he whispered to no one. "But how?"

HERE

Elliot holds Olivia in his arms, her naked, sleeping body nestled tightly in his, and he watches spots before his eyes float around in the stale air of the room. He inhales, and he thinks that it smells like sex, with a hint of lavender and Ivory soap. He scoffs, realizing the scent is a result of the only activities he enjoys with his lover in this hell. Sex and showers.

She moans as she rolls her head, her eyes flicker as they open. "Hey," she mumbles, licking her lips as she feels him inside of her. She smiles a childlike smile and gives her hips a thrust.

He chuckles at how cute she looks. "Hey," he returns, cupping her ass as he holds her.

She kissed him, then spends endless moments gazing down at him. "Did you get a good look at him, at least?" she asks, running a finger gently over the purple bruise on his cheek.

He shakes his head. "Ski mask," he says, biting his lip. "I thought I could take him, baby. If I sat up at the top of the stairs, waiting for him, I thought..." he pauses. "How did he know? I mean, he opened the door and punched me before he even saw me."

"Cameras," she offers. "Maybe there's more than one."

"Or maybe he can hear us, too," he suggests. "He heard me tell you what I was doing, and he was ready. I tried, baby. You have to know I...I hit him back, but then he just...closed the door." He took a shaky breath. "I tried."

She kisses his lips and she sighs. "I know you did," she tells him. And then she sits up. "Do you think he's really doing this for me? For us? To keep us out of trouble, to keep us out of work, for the baby?"

"You've been in the unit for how long, now?" he chides. "There's no such thing as a sympathetic perp, Liv." He runs a hand down his face and wishes he could tell how long they've been isolated, because he is honestly surprised that he remembers anything about work. "I'm pretty sure if he was gonna kill us, or...hurt...you, he would have done it by now, though. Maybe that's not what this is about."

She tilts her head. Something in his eyes startles her. "You stopped," she says, reaching for his face. She cups it in her hands, forcing him to look at her, "You weren't gonna say 'hurt', were you?"

He swallows, and he closes his eyes. "He was down here last night," he whispers. "I know he was. I couldn't see him, but...but I know...I heard him breathing. Panting, almost. He was right next to you, and I was ready, Liv. Ready to fucking kill him if he touched you."

"He didn't," she says, not afraid. Fear had long ago evaporated, leaving only acceptance in its wake. "He didn't touch me. At all."

"I know," he says with a nod. "I pulled you so fucking close to me, that if he did, he would have gotten a handful of me, too, and he wouldn't have been too happy."

She kisses him again. "El, I know you've always had this horrible protectiveness over me," she tells him, "But I can defend myself. I'm trained to..."

"No one can see in the dark," he whispers. "Not even me." He searches her eyes for a glimmer of fear, an admission that it's possible, but all he sees in her eyes in determination and love. He knows, now, that's all that remains, and he wishes he, too, could forget what it is to be afraid.

She moves herself closer to him, runs her hands down his shoulders, and takes both of his hands. She entangles their fingers and whispers, "It doesn't matter, El. I don't need to see in the dark. All I need is you."

He kisses her. "Ditto, baby," he says softly, his lips against hers. But he keeps the memory of their unwanted visitor in the back of his mind, and he swears that he will find a way to keep the lights on tonight.

THERE

"I swear," a man with thinning hair says, blinking quickly. "I don't know!"

Munch folds his arms. "Come on, Kurt. You were with Olivia for how long? She dumped you like yesterday's fish, you found out she's marrying her partner, the same guy that threatened to cut your balls off for even being with Olivia in the first place. Man, that's gotta piss you off."

"Look," Kurt Moss says, looking up at Munch. "I didn't like Elliot, he threatened me, he...well, I know why Olivia wouldn't tell him about us, or let me even meet him before my name came up in an investigation, but...I would never do anything to hurt either of them."

Ed Tucker, standing beside Munch, flops a photograph onto the table. "You know him?"

"Yeah," Kurt says, his eyes narrowing. "Yeah, he wrote for the paper, different department though. Haven't heard from him in years."

There is a knock on the interrogation room door, and heads turn as Fin walks in. "Sarge, Porter's here. You need to talk to him, says it's important," he says. "And I just got done with Taylor," he adds. "We got an address, but no name. It's a PO Box in..."

"New Orleans," Tucker says, heading for the door. "Book Taylor on conspiracy and aiding and abetting," he demands as he walks out.

"How the hell did he know?" Fin asks, tilting his head.

Munch shakes his head and turns back to Kurt, who looks confused. "You sure you don't know anything else?"

Kurt sighs. "I would tell you," he says.

"Go," Fin spits, and he growls slightly as Moss gets up and buttons his jacket.

"No apology?" Kurt complains. When he's met with cold stares from both Fin and Munch, he chuckles and walks out of the interrogation room.

Fin folds his arms, then looks down at the photograph. "Holy shit," he barks, "I know him."

Munch nods. "We all do," he says with a deep breath.

Fin's eyes darken and the corners of the photo crumple in his tensing hands. He fights off the urge to rip it half. "If this guy hurt them..."

"You two!" Tucker yells into the room, pointing to Fin and Munch. "You need to talk to Porter. Now. And..." he breathes, "We got another package."

Munch eyes Fin, knowing that whatever it is, is isn't good.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Day...how many is it?**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and characters belong to Dick Wolf. TStabler© owns this story.**

_Maddening. The only word for it. We were so used to being in control...especially me...and when that control is taken away, it...sucks. We fought a lot, made up a lot, talked about mindless things for hours. We changed. Lost part of ourselves down there, somehow, and the only thing that we could fight for...since everything else was gone...was our child. The only thing that convinced us we were still alive was that baby. Until...until we finally faced him._

HERE

"Oh, God," she moans. "Right there, baby. Yes! Fuck, yes!"

He bites his lip as he holds her hips, rocking against her, thrusting into her. "God, Liv," he grunts, watching her move on top of him. He knows it's well past ten, and the lights are still bright, he can see every emotion cross her face.

"Oh, El," she moans, her head dropping backward, her mouth opening. "Oh, my God!" Her head whips forward, her hands wind around his shoulders and she squeezes, her body tightening, clenching, as she looks into his eyes.

He grunts and mumbles her name, letting go inside of her, holding her down, keeping his eyes on hers. "Fuck," he hisses.

She lets out a small laugh as she trembles, and she says, "So much better with the lights on."

"I'm not sorry," Elliot says, shaking with a last ripple of pleasure as he pulls Olivia down and holds her his arms, in their bed.

She sighs and shivers, moving closer to him. She feels him wrap the blankets around them tighter. "I know," she whispers, kissing his chest. "I'm relieved, too, but did you have rip the wires out of the wall altogether? Honey, that was the only way we could tell what time..."

"He can't sneak up on us now," he interrupts. "If he wants to come down here, he will, and we'll see the fucker."

She drops her head to his shoulder, stifles a yawn, and says, "God, you wore me out, El."

"Sleep," he says, his face buried in her hair. "Sleep, baby." He leans back, then covers her body with his before closing his own eyes.

Sleep doesn't come easily with the lights on, but it comes with a new sense of calm.

The chains rattling don't wake them. The footsteps down the stairs don't disturb them. The only reaction from the couple comes when they are both pulled roughly out of the bed.

THERE

Tucker, his arms crossed and his eyes narrow, shakes his head. "What do you mean, gone?" he asks.

Dean Porter shakes his head and closes his eyes. "They found the house," he says, "But it was empty. Looks like they left in a hurry, too. Clothes, books...all over the place."

Fin scoffs. "Man, I can't believe that this whole time they've been in an FBI safe-house. You didn't think it woulda been a good idea to tell us if..."

"I didn't think he was capable of something like this!" Porter yells. "He's a key witness in an ongoing investigation, which is the only reason we got him out of lockup and put into the program!"

Munch rubs his eyes. "He knew we were coming," he says. "How did he know we were coming, Porter? You're the only one here who knows how to contact him!"

"I don't contact him," Porter snaps back. "I call Grant, who runs the team out there! He has handlers, I call them when..." he stops. His eyes twitch. "Son of a bitch."

"What?" Tucker asks, his arms dropping to his sides. "Fucking what?"

"Grant. Philip Grant," Porter says through gritted teeth. "I want everything your tech team can get on his cell phone and computer, I've got the number and IP address."

"You think one of your agents has been helping this prick?" Fin shouts. "Man, no wonder Benson dumped your ass! Fuckin' feds can't be trusted!"

Porter opens his mouth to speak, but a knock on the conference room door stops him. Tucker moves fast, opening it. "Doctor Warner?"

Melinda Warner rushed past him, into the room, and throws a large evidence bag on the table. "Sheets," she says, pointing. "Bloody sheets. They were delivered to the lab at six this morning. I ran...I ran tests." She closes her eyes and swallows. "Three separate hits. Elliot," she pauses to choke back a sob. "Olivia, and..."

"The baby?" Fin asks, his heart in his throat.

"No," Warner breathes. "Thank God, no. I think it belongs to their kidnapper. Nothing solid yet, though."

Munch pulls at the clear plastic bag, his bony fingers twitching with nerves. "How much blood are we talking about, Doc?"

Warner takes another breath. "Not much," she says. "Small spatter, most likely from a fight. Nothing fatal, there wasn't enough blood to make me worry about a serious wound, just...plain...worry."

Tucker punches the wall behind him and curses loudly. "Get Morales down here, now! I want him hacking into that asshole's computer, and I want those cell phone records in my hands in ten minutes! Do you understand me?"

Fin and Munch rise to their feet, bolting from the room. Porter watches as Warner sits at the table and runs a finger along the edge of the sheets, fear etched in her features. He takes a breath then turns to Tucker. "I think they can let Cragen go now," he says.

Tucker nods and swallows, his eyes red and swollen as he looks at Porter.

Porter's eyes narrow. "For someone who hates them, you're more pissed off and scared than anyone else."

"I don't hate them," Tucker hisses. "That's...that's the problem." He runs a hand down his face and says, "You need to call Grant, tell him you know what he's been doing and you want in, and find out where he's got them." He narrows his eyes. "Use your history with Olivia," he says.

Porter bites his lip. "I know what to do," he says, pulling out his cell phone. "You know, that whatever I say...I don't mean. I'm gonna be lying through my teeth with this phone call, Ed. I would never hurt..."

"Make the call, Dean!" Tucker yells, sitting next to Melinda. His eyes fall, landing on the bloodied sheets, and his heart breaks a little more. His eyes close, and for the first time in what seems like years, he prays.

HERE

Olivia holds her breath as the blindfold is ripped off her eyes. She blinks and winces, the light in the room much brighter than she's used to. "What the fuck is..."

"Shut up," the man in front of her shouts.

She watches, horrified, as the man yanks on Elliot's blindfold. "El!" she yells. "Elliot, are you okay?"

His eyes are closed, but he nods. "Fine, baby," he spits. Then he smirks. "Hey, pal," he jabs at the man in the ski-mask. "How's your friend? He wake up yet?"

"Don't," Olivia warns, unsure of what this man is capable of.

Surprisingly, the man chuckles. "No," he says. "You knocked him out pretty good, Stabler." He pulls something out of his pocket, it snaps open.

Olivia gasps at the sight of the knife, and she can't feel anything but her heart pound against her chest as she watches the blade move closer to Elliot. She struggles against the ropes that bind her to the chair, and she yells, "Don't touch him, you asshole!"

The masked man turns, looking her right in the eyes as the blade swishes fast, meeting its mark. "Relax," he says. He stands and steps backward, then makes two more cuts with his knife, through the rope around Elliot's ankles. He looks at Elliot, then, and hands him the knife. "Untie her," he demands, jutting his head toward Olivia.

Elliot hesitates, nervous, but takes the knife and stands. He moves over to Olivia, giving her a visual check, flinching when he sees her split lip. He brushes a finger over her mouth lightly, tears in his eyes, then he kisses her gently as he cuts her wrists and ankles free.

"I told you," the man in the mask sneers, "That I don't wanna hurt you. And I won't. My partner, though, he got a little rough with you and I'm sorry. He deserved that blow to the head, Stabler."

Elliot pulls Olivia up, out of the chair and into his arms. "Where are we now?" he asks.

"Somewhere safe," their captor says. "You'll both be woozy for a while, until the..."

"You drugged us?" Olivia shouts. "Are you out of your..."

"We had to leave!" the man interrupts. "You wouldn't cooperate, and I didn't want to get beaten by your bodyguard there the way my friend did, I had no choice!" he explains. "But you can relax, what I gave you didn't harm your child at all. I promise you that." He clicks a button on what looks like a car alarm. "Cameras," he says, "One in the bedroom, one in the bathroom, one right by the door." He smirks, but it's hidden behind the black wool of his mask. "You have a shower curtain here. You're welcome."

Elliot takes a quick, angry step forward, but their captor raises a gun and points it at Olivia's stomach. Elliot freezes. If he'd been armed, there would be no question, but there's no way, given the distance, he'd get to the fucker before he fired.

"One more step," the man warns, "And you'll be planning a funeral instead of a wedding."

Elliot gulps and moves back, wrapping himself around Olivia, ready to take the bullet if he has to.

"Admit it," the man hisses, lowering his gun, "Part of you gets off on this, right? No work, no responsibility, just you and her, nothing to do but fuck, and sleep, and fuck again, and talk to that baby. You've got it made, Stabler! Have I really done anything wrong? Huh?"

Elliot's lip trembles, his eyes close, he doesn't want to admit anything, but he can't deny it either. He hears a door slam and several clicks tell him that there are more locks on this door than the last. "Shit," he spits. He feels Olivia's arms wrap around him, and he turns to bury his head in her neck.

She sighs when he holds her, she moans when he kisses her, and she tries to smile at him when her fingers run over the small cuts on his cheek. "You got one, baby," she says, nodding at him.

"I didn't know there were two," he tells her. He looks around their new cell, and he shakes his head. "No windows, just the one door, fuck." He grips her tighter. "Something scared them, that's why we had to move."

Her eyes run over the bare walls and down to the bed, and she shakes her head as she moves toward the mattress. "They knew where we were. Cragen, the guys. They were gonna find us, El." She lies down and it isn't until her eyes are closed that she feels him crawl into the bed, too, slip his arms around her and pull her close. "Someone tipped this guy off, somehow."

"So they gotta know, then," Elliot offers, calming her. "They know, and they're gonna find him again, and they're gonna find us." His palms spread open over her small bump, he caresses and tickles the slight bulge. He breathes in the scent of her as he nuzzles in her hair. "I love you."

She closes her eyes, trying to forget how close they'd come to being saved. Then they open, a realization hitting her. She didn't want to be saved. Did she? Did they need saving after all? Had the man with the gun been right? She links her fingers with his, around the swell of her belly, and she whispers, "I love you, too, El."

THERE

"Yeah," Porter says into the phone, giving Tucker a thumbs up. "No, I will be there tonight. Of course, I'm coming alone. Make sure she's ready for me." He ends the call and looks around. "We got an address," he says. "But something didn't seem right with him. He sounded...different."

"Maybe he's feeling guilty?" Munch offers.

Porter shakes his head. "Too different," he says. "I don't think I was talking to Grant." He grabs his jacket and looks around the room. "Morales, please let me know if any repeated numbers come up on that phone dump. Warner, you gotta keep trying to find a hit on that third blood sample. It could be Grant's." He pulls on his coat. "Anyone feel like taking a trip?"

Fin stands. "You ain't goin' anywhere near them without me."

"I'm going," Tucker declares, turning to Munch. "Can you run..."

"No," a voice from the doorway says. "Ed, you stay. They're my kids. I'm going."

Tucker shakes his head. "Don, you...how did you..."

"Trevor Langan can be very persuasive," Cragen says before looking at Fin and Porter. "Where are we going?"

"New Orleans," Porter states, leading the two men out of the room.

Tucker and Munch stare after them. "Do you trust him?" Munch asks,

Tucker smirks. "As far as I can throw him," he says, slapping Munch on the shoulder. "Morales," he says, turning to the techie at the table. "You get that?"

Morales takes off his earphones. "Every word," he says, smiling. He scribes something on a small, yellow piece of paper and tears it, then hands it to Tucker. "That's the address the man on the phone gave Porter. Cell phone was the same disposable Elliot called us with."

Tucker nods, then raises an eyebrow at Munch.

"You're the boss," Munch says. "You tell Brooklyn they have to handle Manhattan's calls and I'm with ya."

Tucker chuckles, pulling out his cell phone and dialing as he walks with Munch out of the interrogation room. Melinda and Morales look at each other for a moment, then look back at the door.

Elliot and Olivia were coming home, and this case was ending, one way or another.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: One Month Gone.**

**DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns SVU and the characters; TStabler© owns the story you're about to read.**

_We really didn't believe anyone was still looking for us. We had bigger concerns, and since we were being kept relatively safe, we started to focus on us, our child, resigning to live the life we'd been forced to live. Some call it submission. We called it survival._

THERE

"We haven't heard anything for a week," Cragen says, shaking his head. "Now this?"

Fin bites his lip. "We got there and the house was empty, Cap. Just the body of Agent Grant, lying in front of the door." He rubs his eyes. "Our only lead, dead. Now there's a key witness out there with no detail, and he's got Olivia and Elliot."

Cragen holds up the CD in his hand. "They're alive," he says. "Why, I don't know, because any other case…they'd be dead already. He's told us he's not after their baby, he's told us that he won't hurt them unless he has to." He hands the CD to Fin, and glances at Elliot's computer. "Upload that."

"What is it?" Fin asks, turning it around in his fingers.

Cragen clears his throat. "Note said it was a home movie. When I loaded it on my office computer, it was Olivia and Elliot playing cards, kissing, Elliot rubbing her belly." He chokes back a sob. "When I tried it in my laptop it was something different. See what you get on Elliot's computer, then call Morales down here."

Munch tilts his head. "You think it's a link to a live feed?"

Cragen nods. "Or at least it's a program that's connected to his camera somehow. If we watch long enough, maybe we'll see him, or something that will give us a hint as to where they are. We know they're not in New Orleans anymore, and the FBI has lost their hold on…"

"Captain Cragen!" Dean Porter runs into the room, a letter in his hands. "I think I found his motive."

Fin narrows his eyes. "What is it?"

"Revenge," Porter says.

"On Olivia or Elliot?" Cragen asks, standing.

Porter shakes his head and hands Cragen the letter. "On you."

HERE

"This is…nice of you," Elliot says begrudgingly to the man in the ski mask, who is sitting in one of their cushioned chairs.

The man leans forward. "I care about her," he says dryly. "I never said I didn't, did I? I'm not a monster, I know she needs a doctor every so often. I found one that makes house calls." He sits back. "Thank me by being less insolent and trying to relax around here."

Elliot squeezes Olivia's hand gently, then looks around the basement that now looks more like a cushy den than a jail cell. He turns, facing the doctor and the small machine beside Olivia. "Everything okay?"

"Just fine, Mister Stabler," the doctor says, though his hands are shaking and he seems to be sweating, though it isn't hot in the room. "Your wife is healthy. Perfectly normal weight, the baby has a good, strong heartbeat." He flips a switch on the machine and a very small, loud, fast rhythm fills the stale air.

Elliot sighs, relieved, and drops his lips to Olivia's forehead. "Thank God," he whispers, and tears roll down his cheeks. "That's our baby," he says to her.

She nods and sniffles, her own eyes wet with tears. "Can you tell if it's a…"

"Too soon," the doctor interrupts. He clears his throat and stands. "Now, if there's nothing else you…"

"Oh, my God!" Olivia screams, hearing the gunshot and seeing the doctor drop in front of her. "What the…why did…oh, my God!"

The man pulls his ski mask down more as he lowers his gun. "Couldn't risk him running for help," he snaps. "I told you I'd get you a doctor, and I did. The next one will be different, obviously."

Elliot, shocked, pale, shaking, moves closer to Olivia and wraps an arm around her body, protecting his child. "You didn't have to do that."

"I did," the man said, kneeling and grabbing the doctor's limp wrists. He looks up, then, and his icy eyes meet Olivia's panic-stricken face. "I will never hurt you, or Elliot, or your baby. You have to believe me, Olivia." His eyes narrow through the slits in the mask. "I've never betrayed you, even when it would have…" he stops. He shakes his head. "I've told you, this is not about you, or hurting you."

"Then what the fuck is it about?" Elliot snaps.

Olivia turns her head and buries it in Elliot's chest. "El, baby, please…just don't piss him off."

"It's about the only thing, besides you, I have ever really given a damn about, Olivia," the man says coldly, dragging the body of the doctor toward the stairs. "Justice."

Her eyes widen in realization, and she gasps softly. "El," she breaths, sitting up and tugging her shirt down. "Oh, God, El."

He kisses her, he holds her. "I know, baby. I saw…"

"No, not that," she shakes her head. "I know who he is."

THERE

Tucker paces back and forth in his office, avoiding the narrow eyes of the Chief of Detectives and the sad face of Captain Cragen. "I don't know, Sir," he says, biting his lip. "He blames Captain Cragen for what happened. He blamed the FBI, but…clearly he got even with them. He took the only connection to the case he had, Olivia, and knew that it would hurt Cragen."

"Why haven't we found him?" Chief Donohue asks. "You know who he is!"

Tucker scrubs his face with his right hand. "Chief…Sir…it…" he swallows. "He's smart. He's had help. He's been one step ahead of us since the beginning, and every time we get close…" He shakes his head. "We had his location, we got there too late. He was gone. We found him again, same thing. Gone. Left a body in his wake, though."

"So you've had him twice, and you've lost him twice," Chief Donohue confirms. "It's a pity, Ed. I'm starting to think the only two people in this entire precinct who could find him are the people he's kidnapped."

Tucker's head snaps up. "Yeah," he says. "Yes! I just…I can't believe I'm saying this…I've gotta think like Stabler."

Donohue gets out of his seat. "What I meant," he begins, "Is that the Special Victim's Unit is not worth the money being poured into it. Get me a solid lead, find them, or close this case and move on, Sergeant. You're wasting time and city funding, and there are plenty of victims that need your help now, while they can still be saved."

"No, no, Chief Donohue you cannot do this! They're alive, we have proof!" Cragen yells.

The chief shakes his head. "Then there's no reason to fight for them, is there? You've got a city morgue filled with bodies of people who don't have anyone fighting for them. I suggest you get to work."

Tucker sighs. "When?"

"You have one more week," Donohue states. "If you don't find them, we consider them gone, and Cragen has to hire replacements, you've got to close this case." He narrows his eyes. "Do I make myself clear?"

Tucker nods, and he closes his eyes. He heard the slamming of the door as the chief leaves, and he opens his eyes just as quickly. "A week, huh?" he huffs, grabbing his jacket. He leaves Cragen alone as he storms out of his office, then the building, then gets into his car. He isn't sure who he needs to see, but he knows where he's going.

HERE

"What kind of people are we, now, El?" she asks, her voice soft. "We just…we watched him kill that man, and we did nothing."

"Liv, baby, if I had my gun, or some way to defend myself, I would have done something, but he was armed and…I know he says he won't hurt you, but I don't believe him."

She shakes her head and bites her lip. "It didn't even…we could have stopped him when he was dragging the body up the stairs…we just…"

"You're pregnant," he whispers, taking her hands in his. He kisses both of her palms, then nuzzles her hands. "I wasn't gonna risk making him mad enough to shoot at you. You asked me not to, Liv. You were scared, more than I was. I wasn't gonna leave your side."

She cups his face, then brings his face closer to hers. She kisses him, her lips tremble against his and she grips the sides of his head tighter. "El," she breathes.

"I'm never gonna leave you," he mumbles as he kisses her again. He walks her back to the bed. "Never."

"El," she pants again, the only sound she is capable of making as her body trembles in his hands.

He hums into their kiss, his arms wind around her body, he pulls her close and he lays her down, flattening over her as lightly as he can. He knows the camera is on them, he knows the son of a bitch is watching, and he is determined to make sure he can't see anything.

She moves, her lips still attached to his, and lets him pull the thick quilt over them. She feels his fingers, she notices that they're smoother, his rough, work-worn skin has softened with lack of exposure to the elements. She moans when those smooth fingers slip up her thighs and tug down on her sweatpants, and she hikes up her knees to help him get them off.

He's undressing her, cloaked by the blanket, and he's savoring every moment, inhales her as he kisses every inch of her skin, whispers sweet words and promises he'll probably never be able to keep, all because he knows that any moment could be his last with her now. Their captor is a time bomb, and he needs to figure out how to diffuse it before it blows.

THERE

"I feel like I'm betraying them by watching this," Morales says, shutting his eyes.

"I feel like I should be paying for this," Fin spits out, smirking.

Cragen, fuming from his conversation with the chief and Tucker, slams both hands down on the desk. "Just trace the line, Morales!"

"I can't!" Morales yells, hitting keys. "Every time I close the server another one pops up. They're called mirrors, and they're…"

"Untraceable," Cragen sighs, shaking his head. "Can anyone else see this?"

Morales shakes his head. "The uplink was encrypted, it only connects to the camera when the files are loaded into a system. I'm pretty sure he only wanted you to watch them, but…maybe not…not like this."

"This is now, though, right?" Fin asks, pointing to the monitor. "This is live, so they're okay?"

Morales nods. "It's live." He clears his throat and minimizes the window. "Have a little respect, Detective Tutuola."

"I have respect," Fin snaps. "I also have a really great visual to sleep to tonight."

Tucker runs in, then, and he heads right for Cragen. "Where are they?" he hisses.

Cragen's eyes widen. "What? I don't…"

"Where are they, Don?" Tucker asks again, this time holding up a photo. "You know this place. I know you do, but where…"

Cragen rips the photo out of his hands. "Where did you get this?"

"In the file," Tucker says. "The one the FBI kept on our suspect. He grew up there. That's the only photo of him as a kid, and that building is…"

"Laplace," Cragen interrupts. "About an hour outside of New Orleans. My wife was…that's where she grew up. She used to tell me all about that museum, and how once she got out she never wanted to go back."

"Well," Tucker says, folding his arms, "Guess you're going back in her place." He turns and looks at Morales. "Can you get me all prior addresses for this guy, in and around Laplace, Louisiana?"

Morales smirks. "You know I can."

"Ed," Cragen says, his eyes upturned. "How did you get them to give you this?"

Tucker grins, and he cracks his knuckles. "Like I said this afternoon," he begins, "I just had to think a little more like Stabler."

**A/N: WHO IS IT? WHO HAS THEM? WHY IS HE MAD AT CRAGEN? WHY AM I YELLING? Answers…next.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: 33 days.**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and characters : Dick Wolf. This story: TStabler**

_Knowing who he was and what he wanted didn't make a difference to us. After the shooting, though, he spent more time with us, and we...we despised him for it. Having contact with someone else was nauseating, and as soon as he would leave our room, we would leap for each other. It didn't matter what had just happened, or what was just said, the clothes came off. The need for each other's touch, taste, was...possessive, primal. We were...and I know this wasn't intentional...but we were apologizing to each other for letting that outsider into our world. That's when I knew if we didn't get out of there, fast, we'd lose the desire to leave._

HERE

He opens his eyes slowly, sensing that something is wrong. "Liv?"

She is sitting up in the bed, one hand on her belly and the other holding up a cell phone. "We only get one phone call," she whispers.

He shoots up and takes the device out of her hands and pushes a button. "Wait...why?"

She says nothing but hands him a note. Her eyes are staring at him, but there's no emotion in them at all, which scares him.

He reads the note and shakes his head. He stares at the numbers, figuring they're coordinates, and he reads the man's directions. "He wants us to tell them where we are, that makes no sense."

She taps the cell phone and says, "Look at the phone number."

He hits another button, and just as before there is only one number stored in the phone. "He wants us to..."

"It's a trap," she interrupts. "He's using us to get to him, El. That's what this is about. I should have realized..."

"You say you know the guy," he cuts her off. "How? Why's he so pissed at Cragen?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "You remember those little girls...with the fairy dust?" She raises an eyebrow.

He squints at her. "The anthrax case with...how is this..." His eyes widen. "That guy is...are you fucking kidding me? If he's out of jail that means he told them you..."

She shakes her head and says, "He didn't. He wouldn't." She runs both hands over her head and streaks her fingers through her hair. "He blames Cragen for not doing something, for not standing up for me the way he did, for not taking the blame. I went to see him, once, I told him to give them my name and get back to work. He told me he would never do that to me."

"No, but he'd kidnap you and keep you locked in a windowless room for...God, however the fuck long we've been here," he snarks. "Do you trust him?"

She bites her lip. "You and me, El, when we gave him that tape..." She closes her eyes. "I never told him you were involved, but he knew. He knew you were in on it, and he never said a damned thing. He blames Cragen for not fighting harder, for not calling in a favor from Dean or something to get him out of there and...he could have told them you and I were responsible...but he didn't."

"That's what he wants," he realizes. "When he said this was about justice, he meant for himself."

"He lost six years of his life behind bars because of me, because I couldn't just let it go," she whispers. "He lost his freedom and his family, so to get even...he took it all away from us."

Elliot blinks. "How is that supposed to..."

"El, he wants us to call Cragen, tell him where we are, get him here," she lists, her hand digging into his thigh. "To take our place, or...maybe he's trying to pin this all on Cragen, I don't know." She looks up at him. "Why doesn't he blame me, El?"

He kisses her forehead and closes his hand tightly around the cell phone. "Just be glad he doesn't," he tells her. "If he did, this would be a lot worse." He wraps his arms around her and holds her tight, his eyes traveling to the camera. He smirks. He knows exactly what to say when he calls Cragen.

THERE

"Hello?" Cragen barks, snapping his fingers at Morales who instantly hits a switch. "Elliot, are you all right?"

Fin bites his nails as he sits at his desk, watching his Captain talk to his missing friend. "Ask about the baby," he hisses.

Cragen eyes Fin, but knows it would keep him on the phone a while longer. "How's Olivia? How's the...good, good. You don't sound fine, though, you sound..." He listens, then, and something in Elliot's voice as he speaks sends up a flare. He signals someone for a pen.

Munch rushes to hand him one, and he watches as Cragen scribbles down something that Elliot must be saying.

"We're gonna get you out of there," Cragen says to Elliot. "I swear we...yeah, I'll tell the kids you're okay, but...I would tell you to stay calm if you...uh, all right, we will take our time. Bye, Elliot." He hangs up and looks at his crew. "That was the weirdest..."

"What did he say?" Fin snaps.

Cragen holds up the paper he's written on. "He said these words over and over again, louder than whatever else he was saying," he explains. "Man, killed, doctor, bring, backup, downstairs." He handed the paper to Munch. "He told me...we have twenty-four hours to find them, and he gave us coordinates, but we have to do the real searching on our own. We don't have an exact address."

"So," Fin begins, "We got a location, but what then...we just bang down doors? Ask people if they're keepin' a pregnant cop and her partner in the basement?"

Cragen sighs and shrugs. "What else are we..."

"You love me," Morales interrupts, taking off his black headphones. "You all love me, and you know it."

"Tell me you got 'em," Fin says, standing.

Morales hits a button on the machine in front of him. "I knew the cell would be disposable, so before the call even came in, I programmed the system to trace the towers around the signal, not the call itself." He hit a few more keys. "It bounced from tower to tower, using six in total, but when I reverse the trajectory of the signals, I got only one common spot." He pounds a key hard and turns the monitor around to face the group. "I just sent the address to your cell phones."

"It's in the middle of nowhere," Munch notes, scratching his head. "It's like the only building for miles on that road."

"Yeah," Fin scoffs, checking to see that his gun is loaded. "Which means if we don't find 'em in time, no one will be able to hear them scream."

HERE

Elliot hands the masked man the phone, and says nothing. He narrows his eyes and his grip on Olivia tightens.

"Is he coming?" the man asks, his black cotton-covered head tilting. "Did you tell him everything?"

Elliot nods, the inside of his left cheek is caught between his teeth. He's shielding Olivia, his right hand clutching hers, his left laying on her bump.

"Good," the man chuckles. "This will all be over soon. But, then again, you're getting to the point where you don't want that, aren't you?" He reaches for Olivia, ignoring Elliot's interference. His hand splays over her bump, just to the left of Elliot's palm, but only momentarily.

"Jackson, don't," she snaps as she pulls away from him and shakes her head.

The man's eyes flicker. He doesn't know how she knows it's him, but he's hurt by her fear. "Dinner," he spits, jerking his thumb at the table behind him. "Eat."

They watch the man walk up the stairs, and once he hears the door slam shut, Elliot turns to Olivia. His lips are on hers before she can speak, his hands are in her hair, twisting and pulling, and his body is pressed close to hers.

She mumbles against his lips, her own shaking fingers clawing at the denim of his jeans. She breaks the kiss and inhales sharply, her lungs aching, and she choked out a gasping, "He almost..."

"I know," he breathed, attaching his lips to her neck again. He nibbles, licks, sucks, kisses, and bites her neck and both shoulders, moaning and panting, rocking into her. "I was waiting for him to," he breathes. "I was ready to break his fingers."

She buries her face in his chest, she inhales deeply and moans softly, feeling his aggressive thickness rubbing against her hard. "What do you think he's gonna do," she starts, scratching the skin at the nape of his neck, "If they don't get here before..."

"Dunno," he interrupts, moving his mouth away from the small, round, purple mark he's made on her neck. "We'll get through it, whatever it is. Together." He looks into her eyes, and sees the spark, the light, the fire. He smiles. "I love you."

She returns his smile, she drags her lips over his feather-lightly, and she whispers, "I love you, too. We both do, Daddy."

He caresses the swell of her body, he splays both palms over the slight roundness, and he breathes. "Daddy," he mouths, no sound escaping.

She nods. "Daddy," she affirms. "I still can't believe it, El. I'm a mommy."

He drops his forehead to hers and something in him shifts. "I'm gonna be so good to you," he swears, praying he will have a chance to prove it. "I'm gonna be good to you and our child, honey. I promise."

"You already are," she returns, not allowing herself to think beyond this moment. "You are, El," she says, and she kisses him gently, running her fingertips over his arms, tracing up and down the definition of his muscles.

He kisses her again, deeper. His body moves, forcing hers backward, and for the first time in a while, he isn't leading her toward the bed. He nips at her lower lip and tugs at her shirt. He's got her pinned against the wall, and he hears her whimper when his fingers find her nipple.

Her head drops to the side, her hands still trail over his body, and she moans. Then her eyes shoot open, a frightful thought entering her mind, and she panics. The man was right, she thinks. She doesn't want this to end, she doesn't want to lose what she has now, with Elliot, and she doesn't want their lives to turn upside down again. She clings to him, and as he slips a hand into her pants, she clings to the moment, too, battling the nausea she now feels.

THERE

"Why the fuck are you here?" Fin gripes, tossing a duffle bag to Dean Porter.

Dean smirks. "It's my case, too, remember?" He throws the bag into the trunk of the car and shakes his head. "Twenty minute ride to the airport, two hour flight, and we'll have them home. We'll have them back."

Cragen, already in the car, closes his eyes. They've been in captivity for over a month, in a room with no windows, being catered to by a man who'd gone crazy in the same situation. He knows they're bringing them home, but he also knows that they're not coming back the same, not at all.

Fin gets into the car, and he sighs as Porter starts to drive. He looks out the window, his eyes turn upward. "We're comin' to get ya," he whispers to no one.

Cragen bites his lip. He isn't entirely sure who it is that they're going to get, but he prays they won't bee too far gone to come home.

**A/N: Do they finally get out?**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Preparing for a homecoming is never easy.**

**DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns SVU and the characters; TStabler© owns the story you're about to read.**

_It's not that we weren't thrilled at the possibility of coming home, we just…for over a month, we were all we had. Do you know what that does to a person? They say that people in solitary confinement go crazy after three days, but people who are held against their will with someone else go equally as insane, it just takes longer. Hallucinations, submission, complete dependency on the other person…it all became part of who we were. Who…who we are._

THERE

"Can't you drive any faster?" Fin spits at Dean from the backseat.

Dean glares at him through the rearview mirror. "I would, but there's a lot of dead weight in the back and it's slowing me down."

Fin growls, a sound that startles Cragen beside him. "We have less than ten hours," he fires. "If you woulda pushed the fuckin' gas pedal, we woulda been on time for our flight."

"Oh, yeah," Dean barks. "Blame me, not the overturned tractor-trailer on the damned expressway, or the fact that someone booked the flight for the wrong day."

"Both of you!" Cragen yells, his nostrils flaring. "Shut the hell up! You're not gonna get us there any faster by blaming each other, okay? Just drive!"

There's silence as the grown men huff, irritated and embarrassed. "Sorry," Dean says, manning up and being the bigger person, because he knows Fin won't.

"Whatever," Fin mumbles, then turns to his captain. "You talked to him, Cap. Is he okay? I mean, we're not gonna get there and find 'em dead, or…"

"They're both fine," Cragen interrupts, perishing the thought that Fin just put into his mind. "He sounded, I dunno, relaxed. Like he…like it didn't matter if we found them or not."

Fin scoffs. "He was probably just keepin' cool so he wouldn't scare Liv. She's gotta be…"

"They missed their anniversary," Cragen says with a sigh. "It was yesterday. I don't think he even realized…" He clears his throat. "The day they became partners. You know, they always celebrate that. I can't imagine what this has been like for them, but I know they both fought like hell. So when we find them, Fin, you can't treat them like victims."

"But, Cap," Fin begins with narrow eyes. "That's what they are."

HERE

She smiles as she watches him get out of the bed, his bare ass in full view. She lets her mind drift to less than wholesome thoughts, a soft moan escapes, and she sinks deeper into the mattress. She tilts her head, looking on intently as he opens the shower curtain. She closes her eyes and she knows, she can see exactly what he's doing, and it doesn't bother her that she knows him so well.

"Are you coming?" he yells over the running water.

She laughs and throws off the blanket, padding barefoot and naked toward the shower. She wraps a hand around the curtain, tugs it aside just enough to climb in under the spray, and she looks at him.

He grins at her, one hand following drops of water along the curves of her body. "How'd I get so lucky?" he whispers.

She chuckles and leans into him, her lips are touching his as she speaks. "I'm the lucky one," she returns, her arms slinking around him.

He kisses her, a long, deep kiss, and reaches a hand over her head to grab the bar of soap with the O carved into it. Just as he clutches the slippery, lavender brick, the water turns off.

"What the…" she pauses, looking up and around. "We couldn't have possibly run out of…"

"Shh," he hushes, tilting his head toward the curtain. "He's coming," he snaps. He yanks the bathrobes off of the hooks near the shower and gets her wrapped up before worrying about his own humility. He's always been protective of her, possessive even, but now, even though he knows the man has watched them in many intimate moments, he can't even allow another man, another person, to see the barest hint of what he knows is his and his alone.

"Here," she breathes, pulling his robe closed and tying it for him, protecting what is hers just as he had done.

He reaches for the curtain, but it's pulled open before he can grab it. "Whoa, okay," he spits out, stepping in front of Olivia.

The man's head tilts in confusion. Then he realizes. "Sorry," he says, his scratchy voice sounding more gravelly than normal. He lowers his gun and steps aside. "That's not for you. Get dressed. We're getting company."

Still in front of her, Elliot takes Olivia's hand and guides her back toward the bed. His eyes narrow, then he gasps. "What the hell is all this?" he asks, unsure if what he feels is excitement or anger.

Olivia's fingers graze over the fabric of the cream-colored dress on the bed. She smiles when she sees the empire waistline and gemstone-littered ribbon. "It's gorgeous, Jackson," she says, not looking at either man, but remaining fixed on the dress.

"There are a lot of people waiting for you," Jackson says, moving back and sitting on a chair. "An entire city that's wondered where you've been. That means, once you get out of here, they're all gonna be taking your picture. You're gonna be in every newspaper on the East coast. I wanted you to…look nice."

Elliot's eyes shoot from him to the suit on the bed. "That's not necessary," he says, though he's fingering the silk tie as if he's somehow seen it before. And then it hits him. "Where did you get this?"

Jackson laughs, it sounds dark and dangerous. "I can't tell you that," he says. "But the person who sent it out to me told me you wanted to wear it to a wedding. Or…was it a funeral?" He stands and walks over to them, then shifts a bit closer to Olivia. "You're gonna look beautiful in that."

She looks up at him, and her first instinct, though she knows it's horrible and wrong, is to hug him. She doesn't. "Thank you," she says, but it's so quiet neither man hears her. "Why?" she asks, a bit louder. "Why are you doing all of this?"

Jackson laughs again, the same bone-chilling laugh as before. "You'll see, Olivia. Just change, and have a seat." He lifts the gun up, then, letting the fluorescent light hit the barrel. "It won't be long now. This is ending tonight. One way or the other."

Elliot stares at the gun, he moves in front of Olivia again.

Another laugh from Jackson, one that sends shivers down Elliot and Olivia's spines. "I told you," he said. "This isn't for you." He pockets the gun. "At least, not for another seven hours."

THERE

"You can't expect them to be the same people they were when they were taken," Doctor Huang's voice flows through the car.

Cragen looks narrowly at the phone, as if the doctor is really there and not just on speaker. "What do we have to do when…"

"Don't touch them," Huang interrupts. "I know your first, natural reaction will be to hug them, but do not do that. They will either shrink away from you or punch you. They're going to be very defensive of themselves and each other, and this has probably affected their trust…"

"Okay, got it, don't touch 'em," Fin cuts in. "We gotta get em into the van without touchin' them. Easy." He rolls his eyes.

Huang sighs audibly, and he says, "They'll be sensitive, too. They've been in a temperate room without any natural lighting for six weeks. They'll be very cold, and probably squinting a lot. You need to make sure you have…"

"Blankets," Dean says with a nod. "They're in the trunk. I also brought bottles of water and protein bars."

"Good," Huang says, his voice soft, curious.

"How the hell did you know what they'd need?" Fin asks Porter, sounding accusing. "I swear if after all of this I find out you had something to…"

"I'm an FBI agent!" Dean yells, taking his eyes off the road for a second to turn and snap at Fin. "You don't think I haven't seen this shit before? You've got a stick up your…"

"Porter! Watch out!" Cragen yells.

And it isn't until the van spins out that anyone realizes they've been hit.

HERE

"I don't see why we had to get dressed so soon," she grumbles as she runs a brush through her hair. "I've been in this stupid thing for hours."

He chuckles. "We worked around it," he jokes, pulling up the zipper of his pants. "A couple of times."

She rolls her eyes. "But still," she says. "I'm not very comfortable. I'm actually kind of used to wearing…a lot less than this."

"You look amazing, though," he says softly, his fingers tugging lightly at the hem of her dress. "Absolutely amazing."

She pulls on his tie and says, "You clean up nice, yourself, Stabler."

He laughs and kisses her, and he murmurs something lowly into her ear. He hears her whispered reply and he growls, his eyes narrowing. "Bad girl," he teases, but then he hears footsteps, and his head turns.

She doesn't move away from him when she hears the door open. She only stops breathing when she hears Jackson's voice.

"You may have gotten all dressed up for nothing," the man yells. His cold laugh filters through the basement and he says, "They've got twenty minutes to find you, or no one ever will."

The door slams, the locks click, and Elliot kisses her again, but his smile's gone this time. It's desperate now. As a man would kiss his lover goodbye, knowing he'd never return.

Her fingers curl, her nails start to dig into the thick cotton of his suit jacket and down into the silk of his shirt. She's needy and she whimpers against his lips as she tried to climb onto him somehow. What he has just said terrifies her, and she knows he's right.

He pulls away from her to breathe, his hands still holding firmly to her. "I never got to tell you…I never got to say till death do us part, but if that…"

"Don't," she pants, clawing at his back again and sealing her lips over his. "Please, don't."

He lets out a frustrated noise, and then a sound of defeat, and his body reacts to hers for the fourth time since they've changed. He rolls his hips into her, he feels her heat radiating from the thin dress, and he can't tell if it's her lust for him or fear for her life, but now it doesn't matter.

She knows that he's worried, she can tell that he isn't sure if pressing this is a good idea, but if they aren't going to be saved, she needs him one last time.

The crash above their heads breaks them apart. Their eyes shoot upward and they wait, and they listen.

"That's Fin," she says, hearing a loud yell. "God, El, they're here!"

Elliot pulls his love, his life, closer to him and he holds on tight as they listen to the scuffling and screaming, discerning a few words and trying to follow the footsteps hoping they'll inch closer to the door to their private hell.

They're both thrilled and scared, overjoyed and terribly depressed, and when the gunshots ring out, five of them, they both stop breathing. They look at each other, and it's quiet now.

Afraid to speak, he simply blinks at her.

"You think they…or that he…" she tries to ask, but her emotions win and the only thing that comes out now is a cry.

He wipes away the few tears that have fallen, and he kisses her lips gently. "I don't know."

"Olivia? Elliot?" a loud voice yells from the top of the stairs. "Elliot! Olivia!"

They hear the locks unlatch, they hear the chains rattle, and they hear the door creak open. She presses herself into him, and he wraps himself around her tightly. As the footsteps on the stairs draw nearer, and they see his face, they know.

It's over.

**A/N: Who came down the stairs? Who was shot? What happens now?**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Coming home.**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and characters belong to Dick Wolf. TStabler© owns this story.**

_This is actually more unsettling than being in that basement. People we once trusted make us nervous, people we used to love we can't stand to be near. I...I just think...I'd really like to go home._

HERE: 

Olivia takes a deep breath, her eyes focusing on Fin's face as he lands on the bottom step. "What happened?" she asks, her body curling even more into Elliot's.

"Oh, man, are you a sight for sore eyes!" Fin holsters his gun and runs toward them, but is stunned when Olivia backs away, hiding behind Elliot. He stops. "Are you..." he blinks, confused. "Are you okay?"

Elliot nods. "Fine," he asks. "What...what happens now?"

Fin squints. "We take you home," he says, nodding once. "Come on, Baby-Girl," he whispers, and his arm reaches for Olivia.

She swats at his hand, moving back, and she narrows her eyes. "I got it," she says, her voice dry, almost cold. She grips Elliot's hand even harder, and she waits.

Fin runs a hand down his face, and he clears his throat. "Come on," he says, and he leads them up the stairs, into the house they've never seen, and through the door they can't remember.

"Oh, my God," Olivia moans, her eyes shutting tight as soon as they make it outside.

It hurts, the sunlight, and they both squint and flinch. Elliot pulls Olivia closer to him, tying to blindly make his way to the van to which they're being led. He feels someone grab his arm, and his first reaction is hard jab to the jaw of whoever it was. He isn't sorry, he's just pushing forward with a shivering Olivia in his arms. "I got you," he whispers to her.

"I'm freezing," she returns, and the flashbulbs going off in her face aren't helping her vision any. The reporters shouting questions at her are ignored as she tries to keep walking. She lifts a hand to try to shield her eyes, but the cold air around her proves too much, and she drops her arm again to keep warm.

Blankets are thrown around them, and they're handed two bottles of water as they climb into the dented van. He sits and slides in, and he pulls her almost into his lap, wrapping both blankets around them, keeping them as close as possible.

She rests her forehead against his, and she whispers, "Where's Jackson?"

"I don't know, baby," he says to her, and he looks around, seeing Dean Porter behind the wheel. He notices Cragen, in the passenger seat, rubbing his jaw and looking at him with hurt and confusion in his eyes, and he sees Fin, sitting next to Olivia, looking out the window. "Where are we going?" he asks, directing it toward whoever will answer.

Dean bites as he turns the key. "Home," he says with a nod.

Elliot scoffs. The only home that he's known for almost two months is fading in the rearview mirror, and he vaguely remembers what Manhattan is like. He isn't going home, he thinks. He closes his eyes and wraps himself around Olivia tighter, hoping that it won't be as bad as he thinks.

The drive to the airport is silent, and Elliot and Olivia ignore all attempts at conversation with Cragen, Fin, and Porter. They nod, and they mumble answers to yes or no questions, but that's as far as it goes, and it's worrisome.

"Are you sure you two are all right?" Cragen asks, another effort on his part.

Elliot looks at him, and he nods. "We're fine," he says. "For the hundredth time, we're fine." He waits, and then he bites his lip. "I'm sorry I punched you."

Cragen looks away from him. "You're not," he says, "But I know why you did it. Huang warned me not to touch you, I should have..."

"Huang?" Olivia says, her head snapping up. It's the first thing she's said since they were taken out of the house. "What's he got to do with any of this?"

Cragen sits and buckles his belt. "He needs to talk to you when we get home."

Olivia scoffs. "I don't need to talk to him," she defends.

"Buckle up," Cragen says, ignoring her protests. "It's not a long flight. We'll be home soon."

Rolling her eyes, Olivia snaps her seatbelt together and then grabs Elliot's hand. "I can't talk to Huang," she whispers to him.

He nods and kisses her. He knows why, and he feels the same way. He doesn't want to talk, because he's afraid of what he's going to say.

THERE

"Dad!" Dickie yells, rushing through the squad room toward his father.

"Oh, my God," Elliot breathes, his arms wrapping around his son. He feels the rush of bodies running into him, and the arms wrapping around him, and one by one he feels them let go, but only for a moment.

Olivia can't fight the tears that build and fall as she, too, is pulled into a tight, emotional hug by each one of Elliot's children, and then it becomes a mass of tangled arms as they somehow end up in a group embrace.

Cragen shakes his head, and he turns to Doctor Huang. "Can you explain that?"

Huang smiles. "They're his kids," he says. "It's his biological connection to them, the unconditional love for them, that binds them. For a while, I imagine they are the only other people that will be able to get near either Elliot or Olivia."

Fin folds his arms. "I've known them for years," he says. "Benson's like my sister, and she pushed me away. They ain't even her..."

"In her mind, and most likely her heart, they are, Fin," Huang interrupts. "Her maternal instincts are at an optimum level now, she's pregnant and she has helped raise those kids. She's just as connected to them as any mother would be."

Porter clears his throat. "Someone needs to go down and..."

"Warner," Fin says, shaking his head. "Right." He nods at Munch, who wipes his eyes, and the two leave the room, heading down to the morgue.

Cragen turns his attention back to Olivia and Elliot, and he hesitantly walks toward them.

"We missed you so much," Maureen sniffles, holding onto her father.

Lizzie's arms are wrapped around both her father and Olivia, and she mumbles, "I'm so glad you're okay! And thank God you're home!"

Olivia runs her hands over the teen girl's head and part of her is truly thankful for that, too. The other part is scared and nervous, she's been away so long she isn't sure what's changed. "We missed you guys," she finally says, and her lips touch the top of Lizzie's head.

"I don't wanna interrupt," Cragen says, taking a breath, "But we need to talk to the two of you. You know that."

Elliot nods, hugs each child tightly, and says, "I'll be right back, I promise." He catches Kathy's eyes, and nods at her before turning with Olivia's hand in his and heading for the conference room.

Cragen holds the door open for them, and he watches them move in and sit. He closes his eyes after seeing Elliot move his chair impossibly close to Olivia's, and he knows that if they were dependent on each other before, it would be life-threatening to tear them apart now. "I'm gonna go get you some coffee," he says.

"Water," Olivia says, one hand on her bump.

Elliot nods at Cragen. "I'll take the coffee, thanks," he says politely.

Cragen nods as he leaves, and he closes the door behind him. "Would you..."

"Yeah," Porter says, leaving the pit to get the water and coffee, allowing Cragen and Huang to observe Olivia and Elliot for a moment.

"What do you think?" Cragen asks.

Huang tilts his head. "I think they're completely reliant on each other," he says, "And they're very cautious of the people around them now. They were taken from a hospital, Don. A place they felt safe. It's been a week shy of two months, where they only had contact with each other and a captor that was caring for them. They've been..."

"Victimized," Cragen interrupts. "Because Jackson never hurt them, they grew attached to him. They confused his lack of violence for kindness, and he turned them into..."

"Don't call them weak," Huang warned. "They're both stronger now than they were when they left, I can tell you that. They're just more protective of themselves, each other, and their child. They'll have trust issues for a while but..."

"Oh, no," Cragen interrupts, watching from behind the glass as Elliot gets up and locks the door. "What's he doing?"

Huang folds his arms. "Did you leave the reports in there?"

Cragen's eyes dart toward Olivia, and he sees her hand over her mouth as she reads a file. "Shit," he spits. "They know." He fishes in his pockets for a key with one hand as the other bangs on the door.

"Go away!" Elliot yells. He huffs for a moment, listens to the knock again, then yells, "He didn't...you didn't have to shoot him! He didn't hurt us!"

"Damn it, Elliot!" Cragen yells. "He killed a doctor right in front of you! He killed two FBI agents! You..." he stops as he fumbles with his keys.

Olivia breaks and falls into Elliot's arms, crying, and he holds her tight and tries to calm her, backing them both away from the door. "Stay there," he warns, narrowing his eyes at Cragen.

Cragen puts both hands up. "Elliot, it's me, I'm not gonna hurt either of you. We just...we need to talk to you."

Elliot eyes him for a minute, then looks at Huang. "We don't really have anything to say," he says.

Olivia pushes out of his arms, and she turns, her guilt and sadness over Jackson's death has turned to anger. "I am not a victim! He never touched me! He never even tried!"

Cragen takes a slow step toward her. "Olivia, honey, listen to yourself," he whispers. His eyes plead with her, and he gingerly takes her hand as she sits.

"Oh, my God," she gasps, "I sound just like..."

"A victim," Elliot offers, sitting beside her with a huff. "We both do," he says, stunned.

"Talk," Cragen says, sitting across from them. "You need to tell us everything. Every single thing you can remember. From the beginning."

Olivia looks at Elliot, and when he kisses her forehead and nods, she turns to Cragen. She takes a deep breath, and she starts talking. "I used to think it was just a hypothetical question," she says. "Something psychiatrists ask to gauge the level of crazy you're on." She looks at Huang. "You wake up in a white room with no doors or windows, what do you do? I never had an answer to that." She smiles and gives them a small, bitter chuckle. "Until now."

**A/N: The end?**


End file.
